Iron Lords
by Rahvin Dashiva
Summary: Warhammer 40k crossover. What happens when the cruelty of 40k meets the naive hope of Gundam Wing? A big war, that's what. Gundams fighting Titans? Oh yes... NO PAIRINGS. About a story, not a love scene.
1. The flames of destruction

_Okay, this is pretty big now, and I've had a request for a dedicated listing of al the characters involved, as it's getting to be quite confusing now. Don't worry, there's only about five or six main characters, most of the others are just minor characters. So, below is a Dramatis Personae section, giving a full (or nearly full - I'll edit it as the planning of this gets ever more complete, and some of the as-yet-unnamed characters get names) list of everyone in it, along with their machines and armaments._

_The story: many, many thanks to everyone who reviews this! This story has quickly become my favourite of the five or six I've got ongoing right now, and it's all thanks to the positive reviews I've recieved from all of you!_

_An outline: A battlefleet of the Adeptus Mechanicus discovers the Gundam Wing universe deep in the southern rim of the galaxy. What the Gundam Wing inhabitants know as Earth is in fact a world colonised in the depths of the Dark Age of Technology, and terraformed to look like a paradisical version of ancient Terra. In search of lost knowledge, the Adeptus Mechanicus journey to 'Earth', but upon arrival, they are horrified by the technoheresy of the inhabitants, and declare a war in the name of the Omnissiah. Titans and Gundams clash in furious conflict, and the fleet of the Mechnicus is unleashed in the conflict ahead. Strife and destruction scours the planet, rending friendships and alliances alike with ruthless abandon. Follow the Princeps and the Pilots through the fires of war, as everyhthing they have ever known is turned on its head._

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**Ferrum Dominus**

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**Dramatis Personae**

**Adeptus Mechanicus forces:**

**-**

**Naval Personnel:**

Vaelor Romana - _Captain of the _Leviathan

Daeron Horkk - _Captain of the _Deus Mechanicus

Chanas Wochal - _Lieutenant and second-in-command of the _Leviathan

Holana Grayval - _Captain of the _Honourblade

Poran Veritas - _Ensign aboard the _Honourblade

**-**

**Adeptus Titanicus:**

Daenor Varnn - _Princeps of _Glorificus Irae

Hieronymous Forlan - _Princeps of _Sanctus Vires

Kiera Lochast - _Princeps of _Vulgus Ruina

Silas Xanax - _Princeps of _Mors Mortis

Laenor Voshe - _Princeps of _Cruor Imperius

Adrax Torael - _Princeps of _Mors Ignis

Selorna Baraksh - _Princeps of _Morior Sanctus

Adamus Krieg - _Princeps of _Dominus Cruor

**-**

**Skitarii:**

Phylaer Morleth - _Captain, 2__nd__ company_

Victor Canonizado - _Lieutenant, 2__nd__ company, 1__st__ platoon_

Garek Kalz - _Skitarii, 2nd company, 1st platoon_

Drex Ularnt - _Skitarii, 2nd company, 1st platoon_

Hylar Maravex - _Skitarii, 2nd company, 1st platoon_

Junt Fornish - _Skitarii, 2nd company, 1st platoon_

Fordan Burn - _Tank commander, the _Flame of Terra

Zeriel Holdar - _Tank Commander, the _Bastion Imperialis

Peryndas Jaltren - _Tank Commander, the_ Cleansing Flame

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**Adeptus Mechanicus:**

Vanaxorus Koranek - _Archmagos Veneratus, overall commander of the fleet_

Geard Heldengraf - _Techpriest Adept, assigned to the _Honourblade

**World Nation Forces:**

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Treize Kushrenada - O_verall commander of the World Nation_

Relena Peacecraft - _Queen of the World Nation_

Alexander Bosun - _General_

Darian Zwei - _General_

Manfred Chellan - _Pilot for Relena Peacecraft_

Dorothy Catalonia - _Diplomat_

**Gundams:**

Heero Yuy - _Pilot of Wing Zero_

Duo Maxwell - _Pilot of Deathscythe_

Trowa Barton - _Pilot of Heavyarms_

Quatre Rabera-Winner - _Pilot of Sandrock_

Chang Wufei - _Pilot of Altron_

**White Fang:**

Milliardo Peacecraft - _Pilot of Epyon, commander of White Fang_

Lucrezia Noin - _Lieutenant to Milliardo Peacecraft_

Quinze - _Captain of the _Libra

**Vehicles and ships**

**Adeptus Mechanicus:**

Deus Mechanicus - _Ark Mechanicus, flagship_

In Gloriam Annihilatum - _Oberon-class Battleship_

Leviathan - _Tyrant-class Cruiser_

Medusa's Stare - _Dictator-class Cruiser_

Emperor's Hammer - _Endeavour-class Light Cruiser_

Crimson Blade - _Defiant-class Light Cruiser_

Honourblade - _Heavy Transport_

Halcyon - _Light Transport_

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Flame of Terra - _Leman Russ Conqueror_

Bastion Imperialis - _Leman Russ Demolisher_

Cleansing Flame - _Hellhound_

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Glorificus Irae - _Emperor-class Titan__ (Hellstorm cannon, plasma annihilator, quake cannon, MRL)_

Sanctus Vires - _Warlord-class Titan__ (Quake cannon, volcano cannon, MRL)_

Vulgus Ruina - _Warlord-class Titan__ (Volcano cannon, gatling blaster, MRL)_

Mors Mortis - _Warlord-class Titan__ (gatling blaster, gatling blaster, Titan close combat weapon)_

Cruor Imperius - _Warhound-class Titan__ (plasma blastgun, Vulcan mega-bolter)_

Mors Ignis - _Warhound-class Titan__ (inferno cannon, Vulcan mega-bolter)_

Morior Sanctus - _Warhound-class Titan__ (Turbo laser destructor, plasma blastgun)_

Dominus Cruor - _Warhound-class Titan__ (Vulcan mega-bolter x2)_

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**Mobile Suits/battleships:**

Wing Zero - _Gundam 00 (beam cannon, beam sabre)_

Deathscythe - _Gundam 02 (beam scythe)_

Heavyarms - _Gundam 03 (machinegun, blade)_

Sandrock - _Gundam 04 (twin heat blades)_

Altron - _Gundam 05 (twin claws, beam pike, flamethrowers)_

Epyon - _(beam sabre, heat lash)_

Tallgeese III - _(cannon, beam sabre)_

Libra - _Battleship (main cannon, beam cannons)_

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**Part 1**

The sky burned. Roiling waves of fire swept across the planet, consuming everything in their path. The stench of smoke and burned flesh filled the air, seeming somehow more horrific in the silence. The burning beams of Lance strikes blazed down through the firestorm, destroying the last remnants of civilisation from orbit.

And, amidst it all, stood a solitary metal giant.

The massive, Emperor-class Titan stayed immobile as it was buffeted by the scorching storm, access ports closed and sensors retracted. It's immense form towered over the ruins of the planet, over a hundred meters tall, bristling with weaponry. The heavy noise of its plasma reactor and internal systems was muted by the crackling, roaring fires.

Inside, Daenor Varnn looked up from his command throne. "Sensors," he said, wearily.

"Nothing, Princeps," replied his communications Moderati. "The firestorm has left us blind."

Daenor closed his eyes. "Very well," he said. "Moderatii. Bring the weapons back online."

The five Moderatii operating the Glorificus Irae's weapon systems nodded briskly. The Moderati Primus, Septis Grauf, turned to face Daenor as he activated his station once more.

"Sir," he said, "why do we need the weapons? Surely the firestorm will have killed any threats by now? Even the other Titans had to withdraw from this."

Daenor leaned forwards, his arms resting on his command throne. "It is better to be prepared, and for naught to happen, than to be unprepared when something does happen. I will not have this Titan damaged because of arrogance and assumptions."

Septis nodded, and turned back to his station, slipping the neural linkages into place with a slight hiss. Daenor activated his throne, and braced himself as he felt the hair-thin linkages crawl over his skin. They burrowed inwards in a sharp burst of pain, and then he closed his eyes as he felt the soothing wash of energy that engulfed him, the Titan's machine spirit merging with his mind. There was a brief moment of conscious communication, a connection, and then he became the _Glorificus Irae_ completely.

When he opened his eyes again, he did not see the interior of the command chamber, but instead he looked directly out into the firestorm, his vision that of the _Glorificus Irae _itself, flickering and grainy as the newly activated sensors tried to cope with the temperature. A slight distraction at the back of his mind, and he knew that the weapons systems were online.

"Hellstorm Cannon, prepare for pre-engagement testing," he said, his voice now the cold, artificial grate of the Titan's internal comms. In the back of his mind, he felt the acknowledgement come through, terse and strong. To his right, a massive shape rose into view, dragged upwards by his arm, grinding and flaring as its capacitors charged and its mechanisms activated. He shuddered as he felt the weapon's machine spirit rise.

_-to break burn kill destroy slay the enemy slaughter in His name-_

The Hellstorm Cannon locked into place, held directly perpendicular to his body. Vents crackled with energy discharges as it built up to firing potential, and each of the five barrels cycled open, ready to fire.

"All systems optimal," he said. "Hellstorm Cannon ready to fire. Plasma Annihilator, prepare for pre-engagement testing."

His left arm snapped and crackled with movement as the bulky weapon rose slowly from its idle position. Coils of blue fire played along its length, casting mad shadows in the flame-lit gloom. Arcs of energy leapt from the weapon as it began to hum softly, cells charging and systems activating. The weapon was immense; the barrel had enough space for a tank to fit within, with room to spare, and the row of power cells encircling the Plasma Annihilator glowed from within with blue energies.

_-slay them consume them in flames burn them to nothing annihilate-_

The weapon locked into place, aimed forwards. "All systems optimal. Plasma Annihilator ready to fire," he said, intoning the Ritual of Activation. "Quake Cannon, prepare for pre-engagement testing."

Systems groaned as the artillery weapon lifted into place amidst the gothic spires of the fortress mounted atop his shoulders. Its barrel was huge, over sixty meters in length, and nearly a dozen in diameter. The ammunition rack snapped into place below it, six massive shells, each the size of an armoured vehicle, held ready to be fired. The weapon's machine spirit was quiet, as though humble, but the _Glorificus Irae _knew that it could be as bloodthirsty as the others, given the opportunity.

"All systems operational. Quake Cannon ready to fire. Multiple Rocket Launcher, prepare for pre-engagement testing."

Ports slid smoothly open on the Titan's armoured body, each one housing a military-grade missile launcher, complete with guidance sensors. The Titan housed over a score of these weapons, a last resort in case of critical damage rendering its primary weapons inoperable. he had yet to fire this weapon. So far, he had never come that close to harm.

"All systems operational. Multiple Rocket Launcher ready to fire. Open communications link with the fortress."

As he spoke, he activated the comms, connecting with the fortress constructed atop the Titan's shoulders. The huge construction was Imperial bunker grade, bristling with anti-air weapons and long range artillery. His senses filled with momentary static as the communication links were established, and then the static faded.

"Fortress, this is the _Glorificus Irae_. Request weapons armed. Brace for action."

There was a delay, as Commander Orteth unsealed the fortress. It had been shielded as a precaution against the firestorm, to protect both the inhabitants and the weaponry. Unfortunately, the shielding also broke communications.

"_Glorificus Irae_, this is Commander Orteth. Point defence weapons armed, all hands braced." Orteth knew enough not to question the Princeps over such matters. The privilege of seniority was never having to explain your decisions.

"Open communications with the 701st."

There was another hiss as he patched through communications to the company of Skitarii garrisoned in the barracks within his leg carapace. "701st, this is the _Glorificus Irae_. Brace for movement."

The reply was delayed, and filled with static. The firestorm was playing hell with the systems. "This is Captain Brynth, acknowledged. Braced for movement."

"All systems, begin activation," he said. He shuddered as it straightened, the huge servos within its limbs whirring to life at the completion of the Ritual of Activation. Charred earth shifted under the _Glorificus Irae_'s feet as they braced, wide apart. Long range scanners, heavily armoured against the hostile conditions, extended from the fortress.

He blinked, and the data feeds from the scanners were superimposed over his vision. The thermal-imaging auspices were dormant, useless in the firestorm. He smiled, and the Titan's head lifted slowly, staring emotionlessly forwards into the cloudless, seared sky.

"Open communication with the _Deus Mechanicus_."

Extreme-range communication spires rose from the fortress, obeying his command. The _Mechanicus_ was the flagship of the fleet, an immense Ark Mechanicus. Both a repository of recovered technology and knowledge, and a powerful battleship, the _Deus Mechanicus_ formed the core of the large Adeptus Mechanicus force around the planet.

"_Glorificus Irae_, this is shipmaster Horkk, of the _Deus Mechanicus_. Communications acknowledged. Praise the Omnissiah."

"For Knowledge is power," replied the _Glorificus Irae_. "Requesting orders from Archmagos Koranek. All systems active."

"Request acknowledged. Referring request to the Archmagos."

After a moment of static, the comm activated again. "_Glorificus Irae_, you are cleared to approach the pickup zone. All hostiles confirmed destroyed. Their techno-heresy is ended. Deus Mechanicus."

"Orders confirmed. Moving now." He broke off the communication link. With a thought, the Titan's legs began to move, carrying it across the scorched wasteland that had once been a hive city.

Verdis VIII had been found guilty of techno-heresy of the highest order. The hive world had engaged in heretical practises, including Dismantlement and Reverse-Engineering, as well as Applied Logic and Intuition. His lips twisted. Such heresy could not be allowed to go unpunished, and the Adeptus Mechanicus had fallen upon Verdis with an entire fleet, freshly dispatched to the Eye. Verdis had only been a short detour towards the galactic south, and the Archmagos had deemed it prudent to divert the whole fleet, to truly show what it was to defy the Mechanicus.

Due to its location, Verdis had escaped retribution for nearly three millennia, but there could be no hiding from the Omnissiah's judgement. Though their crimes had been forgotten by the perpetrator's descendants, retribution would be exacted. Verdis was razed to the ground, every block of ferrocrete torn down and destroyed, every soul cleansed in purifying flame, every living thing annihilated.

Such was the power and the will of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Deus Mechanicus.


	2. Discovery

PART 2

Daenor Varnn climbed slowly out of the doorway in the _Glorificus Irae's_ left leg. He blinked as he emerged into the harsh artificial light of the transport's cargo bay.

The huge chamber had been specially refitted to carry Titans. Grav-plates lined the steel walls, which, when activated, would keep the Titan centered in the bay. Huge straps, meters thick, lay coiled at the edges, awaiting the servitors that would attach them to the _Glorificus Irae._ Crew scurried about the floor, preparing to secure the Titan ready for transit.

Not that it was necessary while actually in transit. Then, the transport's artificial gravity would hold the Titan in place, along with the _Glorificus Irae's_ immense weight. It was during the drop landing that the restraints would be used, when the planet's gravity began taking an effect.

The voxcasters in the walls screeched with static for a moment, and then a voice emerged. "Princeps Varnn to the atmospheric launch bay. Repeat, Princeps Varnn to the atmospheric launch bay."

Daenor sighed, and began walking towards the access transporter that ran the length of the ship. The usual post-action briefing. He disliked leaving the _Glorificus Irae_, but this was one of the few events that he had no choice over.

It fell to the Archmagos Veneratus, the overall commander of the fleet, to organise all actions, and as such, he expected a thorough report on that action, from all points of view. The ship captains would have been called first, as was most convenient, and then the Skitarii, who were first to be withdrawn from the planet. Now it fell to the Princeps of the Titans attached to the fleet to make their report.

He thumbed the call-stud on the transporter, and it hissed at it arrived. The doors slid open with a quiet hum. He stepped inside, checking to see if anyone else required it, before shutting the doors and pressing the destination into the interface. The transporter made no noise as it travelled down the flank of the massive ship.

Silas Xanax stood, silent as usual, in the conference chamber of the _Deus Mechanicus_. He leant against the guard rail that surrounded the main area, arms crossed over his blood red uniform. Jacks and ports stood out silver against the crimson and the copper-coloured trim. He had not bothered to change after returning from Verdis, having preferred to watch as the planet died.

It was necessary to remain aware of the destruction unleashed, for whatever purpose, lest it be forgotten that it was destruction, and not simply a tool to be used. This sentiment was echoed more by the Skitarii within the force, than his brothers of the Adeptus Titanicus, shielded as they were from the combat and the death by meters of steel and iron, killing from afar with such power that deaths ceased to be deaths and became mere statistics and data.

Silas was unwilling to let that happen to him. He knew that the others saw him as silent, as brooding, but he refused to allow their impressions of him to strip him of his value for life. His attitude was born of the scars that the constant war had wounded him with, and he bore it as a mark of honour. As long as he could still feel those scars, he had that honour.

He looked up from beneath his long, midnight black hair as Daenor Varnn strode into the chamber. The Princeps had command of the _Glorificus Irae_, an immense Emperor-class Titan. It was the single most valued thing in the entire fleet, save perhaps for the Ark Mechanicus _Deus Mechanicus_. Millennia old, the Titan had seen rivers of the slain flow around its iron feet, had offered up countless souls to the Omnissiah with its weapons.

Silas shuddered to think of the weight of all that death. His own Warlord Titan, _Mors Mortis_, had a fearsome kill tally, and he forced himself to go over it each time he entered. Every machine he had destroyed, every soul he had ended was inscribed around the command throne, in a line of tiny letters that had become feet tall. It was his way of remaining humble even within the mind of a God-Machine.

The other Princeps' arrived, walking up the wide, engraved brass of the steps up to the conference area. Hieronymous Forlan, Princeps of the _Sanctus Vires_, another of the three Warlord Titans attached to the fleet, stood to Silas' right. He had changed, and wore formal dress in pitch black, with deep crimson embellishments. A brass-coloured cloak hung from one shoulder, an ostentatious display that Silas found impossible to appreciate.

Next to take a place was Kiera Lochast, the Princeps of the last Warlord Titan _Vulgus Ruina_. The tall woman's hair hung in straight waves down to the small of her back, and was stark white, seeming to ripple in the harsh lighting of the room. She stood on Silas' left, back straight, arms down by her sides. She wore a high-collared red robe so dark it was almost black, and her pale skin stood out in stark contrast to it.

Last to enter were the Princeps of the four Warhound Titans. Laenor Voshe and Adrax Torael moving to stand beside Forlan, while Selorna Barakash and Adamus Krieg stood next to Kiera. The four were the most lively of the group, lacking the decades of experience that gave the older Princeps their sombre attitudes.

Varnn cleared his throat, and then spoke. "I see we're all here. I will begin, then." He looked at each of the Princeps in turn. "Thanks to all of our actions on Verdis, the planet is deemed cleansed, and the fleet is preparing for departure as we speak."

"We're headed to the Eye again?" asked Forlan, sighing heavily. None of the Princeps truly wanted to enter the fighting around the Eye, but it was their duty, and none of them would shirk that duty for anything. They didn't have to like it, though.

"No," said Varnn, and the others looked up in surprise. "We have picked up a transmission from the edges of the Southern Rim, broadcast from a sensor probe."

Adamus looked incredulous. "We're leaving the Eye alone to chase after some transmission from a probe no one's heard from in millennia? Those things have been out there since before the Imperium!"

Varnn said, "Yes we are. Archmagos Koranek has deemed it prudent, given the nature of the transmission, to investigate personally, along with the fleet. Assuming favourable conditions in the Empyrean, we should not be longer than two standard months. That leaves us plenty of time to reach the Eye."

"And just what is the nature of the transmission, Daenor?" asked Kiera. Her voice was soft, barely audible, belying her viciousness in battle.

"It was an astropathic hail, though delivered mechanically, using a method that is impossible to recreate now. The sensor probe discovered evidence of an inhabited system, on the very edges of the Southern Rim."

"Inhabited?" said Forlan. "So it's Xenos we'll be fighting instead of Chaos-scum."

"Not necessarily," said Varnn. "Although it is highly likely. The only thing of interest, and the only reason that the Archmagos has decided to follow up on this immediately, is that the energy emissions traced are a rough match to base human technology from before the Dark Age of Technology."

"Before the Dark Age…" said Laenor, puzzled. "But how would it recognise them as that?"

"The probe apparently contains comparison logs of all readings encountered, as well as a simple chronometer. When it detected the readings, it ran them through its database, and discovered the similarity. And it is only a similarity. These reading seem to be more refined."

"How so?" asked Kiera.

"I'm not sure, exactly." Varnn smiled, and shrugged. "I guess we'll find out when we get there."

"Damn right," said Adamus. "My _Dominus Cruor_ needs some enemies to kill."

"What," said Adrax, smirking, "you mean you didn't kill enough on Verdis? I saw you take out what must have been a full company of infantry with those Gatling Blasters of yours."

Adamus shrugged. "There's never enough bolts for those things. Even with all the storage filled with the things, it still only gives me enough for an hour or two."

Varnn cleared his throat, smiling. "Well, I guess that's this meeting over. Be on your transports with your Titans in three hours, in time for departure." He walked from the chamber.

The others followed, breaking up into groups, talking about their new destination. Of course, the ever-present argument over Titan performance, and which weapon configurations were more effective against which targets was still there, but for the moment, it had been displaced.

Silas shook his head, and walked slowly from the room. He had to prepare.


	3. The battle for Barge

**PART 3**

The blackness of space crackled and sparked in the wake of the screaming bolt of crimson energy that blasted from the gaping maw of the _Barge_'s massive cannon. Thicker than Epyon was tall, the shot lanced through the void in a blazing spear.

Milliardo Peacecraft grunted as he boosted Epyon out of the path of the bolt, the abrupt change of direction threatening to rip him from his cockpit harnesses. He saw the four Mobile Suits in front of him do likewise, carried away from him on jets of blue flame.

And then the bolt blasted between them, its sheer potency dissolving Epyon's sensors to static. As the Gundam moved further away, its sensors returned, and he saw the bolt engulf a three White Fang ships at the edge of the raging battle.

The ships exploded instantly in a rippling series of detonations lost in the fury of the _Barge_'s attack. Milliardo closed his eyes, out of acceptance rather than mourning, at their deaths. Lights lit up on his monitor as command of the White Fang Mobile Dolls was transferred to Epyon's ZERO system.

The crimson blast of energy hurtled on past the explosions, soundless in the blankness of space, and passed within a dozen meters of the Colony behind them. The Titanium-steel alloy of the Colony surface creaked and glowed, warping under the immense energies as the crackling bolt shot past. It was clear that a direct hit would have destroyed the Colony completely.

_This conflict has escalated far beyond its origins_, he though. _Now, with the _Barge_'s cannon, and our own _Libra_ Battleship, threats can be carried out in full._

And then the four Mobile Suits were moving once more. One of the two Taurus suits blasted off towards the battle above, while the two Gundams charged at Epyon, weapons ready.

Milliardo smiled as a massive beam scythe arced down at him, blurring with speed. He thrust his hand forwards on the controls, and Epyon's arm whipped up, lightning fast, to crash against the black-armoured wrist of Deathscythe, stopping its attack mid-strike.

The two Mobile Suits hung, immobile, lit by the flares of weapon discharges and explosions from the main battle.

"Why are you here?" asked Milliardo softly, to himself. "You have no place in this conflict."

Epyon's ZERO system flared, and Milliardo hauled on the controls, pistoning Epyon's foot into Deathscythe's chest armour. The two Gundams flew apart with a heavy _crack_ that echoed around the cockpit, and Epyon whirled instantly, its beam sabre flashing up to block the slicing heat blade of the other Gundam, Sandrock.

The two weapons met in a sparking blaze, and Epyon spun low, faster than Sandrock could react, and whipped its sabre up, carving a furrow across Sandrock's chest. Milliardo slammed his other hand forwards, and Epyon's free arm powered into Sandrock's head, rocking it back and allowing Milliardo to withdraw slightly.

He smiled coldly. Epyon was superior in every way to the Gundams. Faster, stronger, tougher, Epyon was the ultimate Mobile Suit. Its ZERO system linked directly to his brain, showing him every outcome of every possible choice, allowing him to read attacks before they had even begun.

He drew back, ready to finish the Gundams. Before he could begin his strike, the ZERO system blazed to life in his mind, and he thrust the controls forwards in an evasive manoeuvre. He wasn't fast enough, though, and he felt a Mobile Suit wrap its arms around Epyon, pinning him.

_Who the-_ He brought the attacker up on his monitors. _A white Taurus, like the other one… Who could be the pilot?_ A red light winked to life, signalling an incoming communication. He thumbed the activation, and a face he had thought gone appeared on the screen.

"Zechs?" called Lucrezia Noin, Milliardo's onetime lieutenant. "Zechs, don't you recognise my voice?"

He closed his eyes. He was no longer Zechs Marquise. That name had broken along with the Sanc Kingdom. "I can hear you," he said quietly. Visions of the past stole through his mind, visions of Noin, of Sanc before it had been subsumed into the World Nation. 

"That's better." Noin's voice was relieved, but still carried an edge of tension. "You owe me an explanations as to why you've been acting this way," she continued. "Under Miss Relena's rule, the Earth is finally heading towards pacifism, so why would you choose to become her enemy?"

Miliardo was silent for a moment. He knew that, to Lucrezia Noin, he would forever be Colonel Zechs, regardless of what name he bore. She still saw the world through idealistic eyes, seeing a simple, black and white division between peace and war. He knew that the two were intrinsically linked, that peace was merely the outcome of war, and lasted only until the next conflict.

"It's just as I've declared," he said. "From space's perspective, the origin of all disputes is the Earth, and none other."

"Wait a second-"

Epyon's boosters flared, and it broke free of her Taurus easily. The crimson Gundam whirled, sabre rising to point at the Taurus' head. Milliardo closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again, looking sadly at Noin.

"And that's why I'll set everything right."

She looked back at him intently, regret shining in her eyes. "You're serious…" she said.

Milliardo cut the communication link silently as Epyon turned, boosters flaring as it blasted off towards the battle. Noin could not bring herself to change, to see things as they truly were, and someday, she would die for that weakness. But it was no concern of his.

He banished her from his mind as he neared the conflict. He hurtled towards a pair of OZ Taurus Dolls, and Epyon's sabre whipped out, left to right in a searing arc. The two Mobile Dolls sparked in the wake of his attack, and then exploded from the neat slashed through their midsections. Milliardo blasted Epyon between the expanding explosions, and into the next opponent.

A spear of light shot across his vision, passing close enough to distort Epyon's sensors, and struck a White Fang Virgo Doll in the face, flipping it backwards and wreathing it in flames. It detonated in a ball of white-orange energy, and the two other Virgos around it turned to the threat, bringing their beam cannons to bear.

The OZ Taurus fired again, but the Virgos were prepared, and deployed their shields. The Taurus' shot splashed harmlessly from the fields, and then the Virgos retaliated. Their powerful weapons struck the Taurus in the chest and thigh, punching through its armour and consuming it in a fiery explosion.

Milliardo blasted between the Virgos, and slammed into a Taurus lining up for a shot against them. He wasted no time, and as soon as he felt the juddering clang of the collision, he wrenched Epyon's sabre up into the heart of the Mobile Doll, destroying its vital systems. By the time it exploded, he was already gone, headed through the combat towards his goal.

He cut through a vicious battle between eight Virgos and nearly double their number of Taurus'. He sabre slashed out as he passed, and the first two Taurus Dolls he came to exploded, sliced in two by the blade. He rolled forwards, and then came up with a powerful vertical slice that ripped another Taurus in half, and then whipped the sabre out and round to decapitate a fourth.

Orienting himself, he sighted his target, OZ's Space Fortress, _Barge_, and engaged his thrusters once more. As he blasted off on twin tails of blue-white fire, he glimpsed the Gundams, embroiled in a desperate fight against both OZ and White Fang.

He smiled coldly. They too were headed for _Barge_, but they would never reach it before him. They only wished to disable its weaponry, to stop it from destroying the Colony. Milliardo knew that would never be enough. As long as OZ had weaponry of that power, they would continue to use it. Mere damage could be repaired. Personnel were more difficult to replace, especially with White Fang's dominance of space.

He whipped around a pair of OZ Mobile Dolls, their automated systems unable to track the speed of his movement, and found himself with a clear run towards _Barge_. He reached it in seconds, screaming towards it, weapons powered and thrusters flaring. Retros blazed as they fought to stop Epyon from smashing into the Space Fortress, and the Gundam arched back, sabre raised above its head. For a moment, Milliardo thought he could see screaming faces behind the view screens of _Barge_'s bridge, and then he struck.

The energised blade of the beam sabre burned through _Barge_'s thick hull instantly, smashing into the bridge in a storm of detonations and screams. It stopped there, a beam of flaring destruction, before Milliardo ripped it downwards, tearing the sabre free in a shower of melted steel. Epyon hung, immobile, as the bridge exploded outwards in a tempest of whirling flames, enveloping the Gundam, but doing no harm to its shell.

The red lights in _Barge_'s cannon died, its activation mechanisms destroyed by his attack. Other sections of the Fortress faded, sensor stations and weapons batteries losing their means of activation. In destruction, the threat was ended.

At the loss of the bridge, the OZ Mobile Dolls faltered, bereft of control. They were cut down mercilessly by the White Fang Virgos, unable to react to the destruction without the guidance of _Barge_. Within minutes, they were all destroyed, reduced to clouds of dissipating vapour and fragments of melted, fused armour plate.

As the flames from the bridge guttered and died in the coldness of space, Epyon's long range sensors flashed. He turned to see what they had detected, and stopped dead.

A pulsing, miasmic light poured from a jagged gash in reality, bathing the battling Mobile Dolls in an evil purple light. The tear widened, and tendrils of madness lashed out, constantly shifting in colour and shape, insanity given form. Unknown energy readings more powerful than anything he had ever seen emanated from the wound.

And then a crimson dagger thrust forwards from the wound. As it exited the madness, Epyon's sensors began to pick out detail. It was a ship, one larger and more massive than anything Milliardo had ever imagined. Epyon measured it at over seventeen thousand meters in length, a figure that both amazed and repulsed him.

Its prow was huge, and formed into a great, ram-like shield. Ports studded the back of the prow, launching mechanisms of some kind. Gothic architecture covered the superstructure of the immense craft, pillars and leering gargoyles embellishing every surface. Weapons batteries protruded from its flanks, more than he could count. The bridge of the ship rose above the main body, an elevated command tower surrounded by cathedral-like spires. The entire ship was a deep crimson, with the prow and trim picked out in a burnished brass colouring.

It powered forwards on engines larger than _Barge_, and as it fully entered realspace, the pulsating wound behind it flickered and died, closing shut in a writhing snarl.

Still hanging in front of _Barge_'s bridge, he opened communication with the stricken Fortress. A terrified face, covered in blood and wreathed in smoke, appeared on his monitor.

"T-this is Ensign Vant," stuttered the crewman. "Who are you?"

Milliardo did not waste time. "Do you have any sensors remaining?" he asked.

The Ensign looked bewildered for a moment, glancing around what remained of the bridge area. "Uh… I think so. Wh-who are you, anyway?"

"Who I am is not important," he said, knowing that he would get no assistance if he told them his identity. "Get all your long range sensors running."

The Enign faltered, and then obeyed, falling in to military instinct. Milliardo watched his face as he received the first reports from the few remaining sensors, and saw horror crawl across the Ensign's features as he detected the massive ship.

"W-what _is_ that?" he stammered. "It's huge!"

"Don't focus on that," Milliardo ordered. "Scan as far out as you can."

The Ensign turned and said something, instructions to the other crew members. There was nothing for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "There are more of them!" he shouted. "Extreme range, out past Mars and even further. I can only detect them because of their huge energy signatures."

Milliardo cut the communication link. He had what he needed. More of them. This was a fight that White Fang could not hope to win. A fight that, perhaps, nobody could win.

What was this ship? Where had it come from? Questions flashed though his mind, as his monitor lit up with an incoming transmission. He activated it. There was no visual, only crackly, static-filled audio.

"Unknown forces around Planet AM-PDA-004, this is Captain Matthias Laenoth, of the Imperial Battleship _In Gloriam Annihilatum_. Identify yourselves peacefully, in the name of the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor."

Epyon had the most distinctive energy reading, and identification tag, of the forces in the area, which was likely why the ship had contacted him. He was silent for a moment. Who were these figures that the ship referred to, the God-Emperor and the Omnissiah?

He grimaced. "This is Commander Milliardo Peacecraft, of the White Fang alliance," he said loudly. "Who do you represent, and where have you come from?"

There was a delay, and Milliardo begn to think that the Battleship had cut communications, and then it replied. "_In Gloriam Annihilatum_ is attached to Adeptus Mechanicus Fleet one-eight-six-delta, despatched from the Forge World Karvandon. That is all you need to know, Milliardo Peacecraft of the White Fang alliance. Disarm your forces and surrender. Deus Mechanicus."

_Deus Mechanicus_? What did that mean? Fragments of ancient language flated through his mind, learned in his childhoot within the Sanc Kingdom. _God Machine_, it would have to be, or _Machine God_.

"Under what authority to do make this request?" he said, using Epyon's ZERO system to spread the Virgos out into a defensive formation. His cockpit lights flashed for a moment as the hundred remaining Virgos locked on to the closing ship.

"Under the divine authority of the God-Emperor of Mankind and the Machine God," replied the Captain of the ship. "Disarm, and acknowledge His rule, and you will be spared and subsumed into the Holy Imperium of Man."


	4. Imperial diplomacy

PART 4 

Milliardo checked his monitors. The ship was closing rapidly, turning to bring its flank weaponry to bear on the Mobile Suits. The Gundams, and the pair of white Taurus suits hung in a group, below the White Fang Virgos.

He switched the communication system to the Gundams' frequency. "Gundams."

There was a delay, and then an answer. "This is Quatre," came the reply. "What _is_ that monster?"

"A Battleship," he replied. "It is hostile, and attached to a larger fleet. The rest are scattered out beyond Mars, and are making for us as I speak."

"What do they want?" interjected the pilot of Deathscythe, Duo Maxwell. "And who they hell _are_ they?"

They wish us to surrender and capitulate to their rule," he replied. "Or they will attack. We cannot fight this ship divided. I have no quarrel with you personally."

"No," quipped Duo, "you just want to destroy the Earth, that's all."

"Duo, stop it," cautioned Quatre, from Sandrock. "This is not the time for jokes." He sighed. "You are right, Zechs, or whatever you call yourself now. For now, we'll listen to you."

Milliardo shut off the comm. The ship was fully perpendicular to the rough line of Virgos. His finger hovered over the comm switch, ready to accept its last command to surrender before it attacked.

It didn't come. Instead, the ship opened up with its weaponry. A line of explosions traced a rippling line down its flank as hundreds of weapons discharged, launching projectiles as large as Epyon at incredible speed. The ZERO system was dormant, unable to read the newcomer's capabilities and possible actions, and the Virgos didn't even have time to move before a dozen were smashed to pieces by the fire.

Milliardo didn't waste time mastering the astonishment he felt at the sheer viciousness of the ship, and its lethality. Whipping Epyon into a dazzling series of evasive manoeuvres, he activated the ZERO system manually. Under his command, the Virgos blasted away from each other, spreading out to give the enemy weapons a larger target area, and charged at the Battleship.

The Gundam pilots reacted a split-second behind him, boosting towards the ship in a blinding display of piloting skill. Their Gundams twisted and dodged around the hail of massive projectiles, barely escaping being pulverised despite all their speed and strength.

Epyon's motors protested as he fired retros and boosters on and off in rapid blinks, dodging around the projectiles. The ZERO system could still react to shots, and trace their paths instantly, and that gave him enough of an edge to evade them.

The Virgos were not so skilled. Their automated systems, while possessing reaction times and tolerance levels far above human, could not track all of the ship's weapons, and the grey Dolls were struck down everywhere, exploding into their constituent parts under the impacts, blasted backwards with enough force to completely negate their thrusters' momentum.

Epyon's visual scanners were in range of the ship, and Milliardo could see, in the brief breaks between salvoes, that an immense panel was lifting upwards on the flank of the ship. _A hangar!_ he realised, just as a storm of dark craft lanced from the hangar bay and out towards the Virgos.

With magnification at maximum, he could make out detail on the craft. Huge, well over fifty meters in length, they appeared to be fighters. A long, tapered fuselage was bisected by a pair of stubby, forward-swept, weapon-laden wings, and a flaring thruster was mounted on the back. Long, slender weapons protruded from the nose, giving them the appearance of hawks diving in for the kill.

"Gundams!" he called. "We have to stop those fighters from destroying the Virgos! We can only harm that ship with massed attacks, and our Gundams just don't have the firepower!"

"You got it," came Duo's reply. "I'll show them just who the God of Death really is."

Milliardo said nothing, and instead maximised power to the Vernier Generators that powered Epyon. As he felt the strain at the back of his mind, he slammed the boosters fully open. He was thrown back into his seat by the instant acceleration, the Gundam going from stationary to maximum speed in less than a second. Blood rushed to his head, and then the cockpit's compensation systems activated, returning him to stability.

The Gundams followed, weapons ready, and the two white Taurus' fell in behind them. The five Mobile Suits flashed between the Virgos, rolling and banking away from explosions and near misses. Epyon dropped low, under a pair of Virgos, and came up to the left of them as a huge projectile whipped past below. He rolled away frantically as the Virgos were struck dead-on by a shot and ripped to pieces instantly, reduced to shrapnel and flames, and found himself beside one of the Taurus'.

As the salvoe withered and the ship reloaded, Milliardo activated communications with the Taurus. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Trowa Barton," the pilot replied. "Pilot of the Gundam Heavyarms. And you are Colonel Zechs Marquise, or is it Milliardo Peacecraft again?"

Milliardo grunted. "I am, I have always been, Milliardo Peacecraft. Where is your Gundam?"

Before Trowa could answer, the ship opened up again, and Milliardo was forced into a punishing series of manoeuvres to avoid being shredded along with the Virgo around him. He lost track of the Taurus in the confusion, but then the enemy fighters were amongst them.

The huge craft lashed through the combat on tails of fire, spitting bolts of death from their prows that were barely stopped by the Virgos' shields. Seeing the shielding, the enemy pilots switched weapons, and then missiles streaked out from their wings to engulf Mobile Dolls in clouds of roiling flame and flying debris.

Milliardo gritted his teeth as one of the fighters hurtled overhead at tremendous speed, and Epyon's sabre whipped up, carving deep into the fighter and letting the enemy craft's speed rip it in two around the energy blade. He fired the boosters again, and Epyon flipped downwards, away from the exploding fighter and into another pair.

The Gundam's foot clipped the wing of one, sending it into a mad spin and wrenching Epyon head over heel. As the fighter he had clipped shook itself to pieces, Milliardo fought to stabilise Epyon, and sliced his sabre around in a flaring arc that took off the wing of the second fighter as it came around to attack him.

Righting himself, he immediately boosted backwards as one of the fighters' missiles streaked through the space where he had been, a black blur, and then flipped upwards as a fighter opened up on him with its nose lasers. He caught one of the shots on the blade of his sabre, almost accidentally, and the devastating beam of light simply parted around it and scored off Epyon's thigh armour, leaving a black, seared furrow in its wake.

And then the shots stopped as Noin's Taurus appeared from below him, her beam cannon flashing as its shots tore into the fighter, ripping a trail of ragged holes along the fuselage and into the engines. The fighter exploded violently, and Milliardo took advantage of the blast to launch Epyon to the right, away from the blast and towards Sandrock.

The Gundam was surrounded by circling fighters, like a seal attacked by sharks, and Milliardo could see that its frame was badly damaged from the fighters' laser weapons. And then he was among them, sabre flashing out as he tore into the first he saw, slicing through the engine block. He was past it before it exploded, and into the next.

He sabre stabbed deep into the cockpit of the fighter, and he felt himself tugged round under the momentum, his sabre ripping free in a spray of pink mist and shrapnel. A laser bolt slammed into Epyon's back, and Milliardo was thrown forwards in his harness, but Sandrock's heat blades whipped back and forth, carving deep into the fighter.

He saw, in a break in the fight, that the Virgos had entered firing range. Their beam cannons flashed madly as shot after shot streamed into the ship, but those that did not run afoul of the torrent of fire still pouring from the ship deflected harmlessly against a powerful shield, their powerful beams splashing out and into nothingness.

He saw the same repeated everywhere, the Mobile Dolls' shots doing nothing against the ship, while the Virgos were steadily destroyed by the rain of shots from the ship's batteries.

The ZERO system flared, scanning all the sensors and feeding them into Milliardo's brain, and he blasted Epyon directly upwards as a missile flashed below him, closely followed by the fighter that had launched it. He flipped backwards as he saw Duo slam Deathscythe's massive weapon into the fighter, ripping it clean in half, before spinning round to carve the wing from another.

Milliardo flung Epyon's free arm out, and its segmented, fifteen-meter long thermal lash sprang to life, uncoiling like a serpent rearing to strike. Shoving one hand forwards and one hand back on the control levers, he whirled Epyon around, the thermal lash whipping out to slice through the fuselage of a fighter, catching a pair of missiles under its wing. They detonated in a furious explosion, and Epyon rocked backwards under the blast.

"Gundams!" he shouted into the comm. "Get in close to the ship! The Virgos can't penetrate its shields!"

He didn't wait for a reply, and blasted off towards the ship as fast as Epyon's boosters could carry him. Under his unspoken command, conveyed through the ZERO system, the fifteen remaining Virgos broke off from the ship, and turned to engage the fighters.

Milliardo, the Gundams, and the two white Taurus' blasted between the Virgos, running the deadly storm of weapons fire from the ship once more. He rolled madly, projectiles thundering around him, drawing ever closer to the ship.

"Zechs!" shouted Noin, "cut your speed! That shield must react to velocity and energy!"

Milliardo cut the boosters out instantly, firing retros and bringing Epyon over into a flip to kill its momentum. He felt a resistance as the Gundam passed through the shield, and then he was within its sphere.

A shot punched into Epyon's right kneecap, clipping it with enough force to almost tear the limb free. Sparks and twisted metal flew, and he was thrown into the side of his cockpit as Epyon was thrown around into a wild spin. Another shot passed within inches of Epyon's head, and then he fired the boosters once more. Epyon righted itself under the thrust, and screamed towards the ship in the wake of the Gundams, who had overtaken him after he had been hit.

He saw the two Trowa and Noin open fire with their beam cannons, the close range fire ripping gouts of flame from the sides of the massive ship. Burning atmosphere flared and stormed in the void as the bolts of energy punched through the thick hull of the ship. Although beam weapons were easily stopped by energy shielding, they were unmatched in the sheer physical destruction they could cause to unshielded targets.

Then Deathscythe and Sandrock made contact, their weapons blazing as they cut deep into the ship. As long as they were, the Gundams' weapons could not penetrate the entire hull, and The Gundams were forced to ruturn again and again to the same spot, widening the tears until they finally breached the hull in an explosion of venting air.

Milliardo aimed Epyon towards the top of the ship, keeping close to its hull to avoid the shots still being fired from its countless weapons batteries. He fixed the huge, gothic shape of the bridge in his viewscreen, and let his thermal lash flail out behind him, ready.

And then running lights lit up on a massive protrusion ahead of him, which he had taken for an exhaust vent of some form. Its gaping maw flared and crackled with pent up energies, and it swung heavily around on an immense mount hidden below the superstructure of the ship's hull.

He didn't have time to dodge aside before a monstrous blast of white energy howled from the barrel of the weapon, larger and more powerful even than the _Barge_'s shot. It enveloped Epyon's left arm completely, the transfer of energy smashing the Gundam aside like a rag doll. When it fell away from the beam of energy, Epyon's arm was completely vapourised, the thermal lash destroyed completely.

"Zechs!" screamed Noin, and, through his disorientation, he saw her Taurus heading towards him as fast as it could. She passed beneath the beam, and collided heavily with Epyon, her momentum carrying both Mobile Suits away from the ship. Deathscythe and Sandrock scattered, heading below the ship and around, while Trowa blasted towards the engine modules.

Distractedly, he watched the beam of devastating energy lance through the void and strike the Colony directly. The beam hit the center of the main habitation cylinder, and ripped it open instantly, punching through and out the other side. Open to the cold vacuum of space, the colony bled metal and materials from the gaping wounds. The beam slowly dissipated as it forged onwards, but its work was done.

The Colony was dead. There was no way that anyone could have survived that shot, and the subsequent exposure to hard vacuum. One shot had just killed over a million people. One single shot. Milliardo fought to come to terms with it. Was this power what the _Libra_ was capable of? Did he want to unleash something of that magnitude?

The thought came absently to him that there was no choice now, that these newcomers, this 'Adeptus Mechanicus' had brought it to Earth regardless of him. The _Libra_ might be necessary for the defence of the Colonies, and even the Earth itself, for these newcomers threatened both together.

And then the Gundam pilots reached him and Noin, and the five Mobile Suits blasted away from the ship. Miraculously, none of the ship's shots hit them as they fled towards the stricken Colony. As they neared the edge of the range of Epyon's damaged sensors, Milliardo saw a pair of smaller ships draw close to the behemoth that had killed all his forces, and nearly killed him, if ships over seven kilometres long could truly be called 'small'.

He leaned back in his seat limply. The coming war would be cruel and bloody, and would see soldiers' and commanders' limits tested to the full. And he didn't know if it could even be won.


	5. The rise of a phoenix

Part 5

Silas Xanax strode into the main cargo bay of the transport _Honourbalde_. In the centre of the huge chamber stood the _Mors Mortis_, his Warlord Titan. A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he beheld the mighty God-Machine.

Almost the entire Titan was solid, pitch black, the only colour the brass trim around the chest and on the large shoulders. Its head was formed into a snarling skull, the cogwheel symbol of the Mechanicus emblazoned in brass on its forehead. Its two massive arms, each one a dozen meters long, terminated in a huge Melta Cannon and a broad silvery blade, its surface dormant of the crackling energies of its Titan-grade power field. Two bulky Gatling Blasters were mounted on its shoulders, their black, many-barrelled shapes protruding forwards like blades.

_Mors Mortis_. Death, it meant, in High Gothic. Death was what it brought, and death was what it was. It was a machine, an entity, created solely to destroy in the Emperor's divine name. As Silas stared up at the fifty-meter tall behemoth, he felt the weight of all that death upon him, death that was the bedrock of the Imperium itself.

"Princeps Xanax."

The voice brought Silas out of his thoughts, and back to reality. "Yes?" he said, turning to face the junior Techpriest.

The Techpriest straightened under Silas' scrutiny. A trio of mechadendrites snaked out from behind him, a small data card held in one long pincer. "This device contains an account of the debriefing of Captain Laenoth of _In Gloriam Annihilatum_. You are instructed to view it."

"Then we have entered the system?" said Silas, taking the data card from the mechadendrite. He pocketed it. "What happened?"

"_In Gloriam Annihilatum_ achieved an entry point within ninety-nine point six percent accuracy of the projected optimal location. As it emerged from the Warp so close to the destination, it encountered a small enemy force. From analysis of the Machine Spirit of the _Gloriam_, and Captain Laenoth's testimony, this force ignored his offer of peace, and dismissed the authority of both the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor. Captain Laenoth responded with admirable dedication, and destroyed almost all of the attackers."

"Almost all…" said Silas, thoughtfully. "What happened to those who escaped?"

"They fled into the remains of a space station that was destroyed by the _Gloriam_. They are an insignificant force, a half-dozen tiny craft, and Captain Laenoth deemed it a waste of resources and time to pursue them."

"I see. What is the current status of the fleet?"

"We have entered containment pattern eight-four-beta, at high orbit. A landing area has been decided upon, and operations to begin ground deployment are proceeding to schedule. The Adeptus Titanicus will be deployed last, to ensure their safety while under transportation."

Silas nodded and turned away, his long hair sifting over his shoulders like mist. "I will be in my quarters, or in _Mors Mortis_ if you must contact me further."

The Techpriest didn't reply as Silas strode out of the room, deep in thought. If the ground deployment was ready to begin, then he had to prepare. The Moderatii would need to be informed, plans would need to be made, all the things that made a military operation possible.

* * *

Relena Peacecraft stood at the back of a wide stage, framed in front of a broad banner bearing the crest of the World Nation, a pair of rearing unicorns either side of an elaborate shield. Emblazoned across the shield were the words 'In pacis nos es reus'. In peace we are bound.

People began filing into the auditorium, men and women in finely-cut formal wear, a sea of black and brown. They were the leaders of the nations of the world, or at least they had been until the World Nation had subsumed all others. They were the most powerful people in the world, and they were all here for her.

Relena stepped up to the lectern mounted in the centre of the stage. The bright lights reflected from her shimmering blue gown, and her tiara sparkled with light glancing off its bejewelled silver. She looked around the stadium, taking in the thousands of expectant politicians, purposely ignoring the half-dozen stony-faced Romerfeller Foundation members behind her.

"Members of the World Nation," she began, and cheering broke out spontaneously. She waited for the cheering to subside, then continued. "I bring you grave news, for we have been attacked, by a power far greater than that of the White Fang Alliance. The Space Fortress _Barge_, our last representative in space, has been destroyed. Records from its last moments show an attacker of terrible power entering the solar system. Just one fraction of that enemy's power destroyed the entire White Fang taskforce sent against _Barge_, nearly a hundred Virgo Mobile Dolls, and callously destroyed an entire Colony. Over ten million lives were lost on that fateful moment."

She paused, scanning the politicians' responses. Horror and shock played openly over their faces, as well as disbelief that such a disaster could have happened. She reached up slowly, and removed the glittering silver tiara that was the symbol of her office, holding it in one white-gloved hand.

"All here know of my opposition to war. All here know that I will not be a part of a government that sanctions such acts. However, this new enemy has such disregard for peace that they fired without provocation or warning. In counsel with my advisors, I have reached the conclusion that they will be extremely unlikely to accept or acknowledge any peaceful negotiations sent on our behalf. It is for this reason that I have decided to step down from my position. I cannot be party to a war of this magnitude. I shall be Queen no longer."

The audience was silent for a moment in bewilderment, then a flurry of questions assailed her, all mixing together into one indecipherable deluge of sound. She raised a hand for quiet, and then gestured to her left.

"In my place, the World Nation shall have a leader more suited for this crisis, a leader with experience in fighting, and winning, battles. I present to you, Colonel Treize Kushrenada."

Treize stepped forwards. He was a tall man, with short-cropped brown hair. His dark blue suit was tailored perfectly to his powerful build, and its white trim stood out in the artificial lighting. A rapier was sheathed at his waist, and it swayed slowly as he walked to the lectern. He stood beside Relena, and raised one hand to the audience.

"I suspect that most of you did not expect to see me again," he said to the stunned politicians. "However, I have returned from my exile, and I have gratefully accepted Queen Relena's offer to lead this newly formed Nation in the coming war."

"Treize is the most able military leader alive today," announced Relena. "If anyone can achieve victory, it is him. I ask you not to bear him any ill will for his past involvements, but instead look upon him as a saviour, a phoenix risen from the ashes of a past life to deliver the people of Earth from the evil of these new agressors."

Relena stepped back, and Treize gripped the lectern. "What is the purpose of our World Nation's existence? Queen Relena said it was true peace, but were the people able to live in peace?" He paused, surveying the room. "The answer to that, is no. People continue to live in uncertainty, and feel threatened. Why is that? It is because the path of pacifism cannot stand up to the wars forced upon us by the White Fang, and now these new enemies. This tyrannical behaviour must not be allowed. I say to the leaders of the world- no, I say this to all the citizens of the World Nation: now is the time to unite as one great force, and fight against this threat from space." He raised his hand to the politicians. "And then, our victory over them shall earn unity and peace for the Earth! Is that not our mission in this life?"

He lowered his arm as cheering broke out. Relena had to admire his sheer charisma. He had not been on stage for more than five minutes, and he already had the world's politicians cheering for him and hanging on his every word.

"It is in this endeavour," said Treize, after the cheers had subsided, "that I wish to ask you all for your aid. All the military forces of the Earth must be organised together if we are to stand any chance against this enemy. Data from _Barge_ shows the horrendous power of just one of the enemy craft, and there have been at least seven more detected. Orbital scans, and transmissions from the remaining Colonies, show that these craft are even now entering orbit around our planet."

Relena turned and slowly walked out, unnoticed as the audience focussed on Treize. She would not be party to war, even if she had allowed it to begin. She could not bring herself to betray her ideals, even for the sake of the Earth. The world needed Treize now, not her.

As she exited the stadium floor, Treize's voice faded until it was just a low buzzing. Her thoughts were turbulent. Despite what she had said, she still clung to the slim chance that diplomacy could end this war before it began. Official sanction would be impossible, though, for such a dangerous and almost certainly futile mission.

She tugged off her gloves as she neared her chambers, folding them together in her hand. It was lucky, then, that the Peacecraft family was wealthy and influential. She had taken action alone before, and had been considering it before this new attack came. Sometimes, official channels were useless, and face-to-face meetings were the only way to get through to people.

The door to her chambers swung open soundlessly, and she stepped inside onto the soft, carpeted floor. The wide window opposite her was open, the white curtains drawn back, and the room was filled with bright daylight. She stepped up to the long table, running a finger along its smooth, polished surface absentmindedly. The phone felt cold in her bare hand, and the buttons clicked sharply as she dialled.

"I need my shuttle preparing for immediate lift-off," she said after it connected, and then put it down without waiting for a reply. She had to hurry, before things progressed too far.

* * *

Silas looked up at the monitor, his brow furrowing with thought. He had returned to his chambers, and was seated at his cogitator terminal, pouring over the data stream on the bulky display screen built into the wall. Although Princeps rated extensive space aboard the ship, even one as comparatively small as the _Honourblade_, his quarters were spare and devoid of ornamentation. Trophies and accolades of battle were won on the deaths of good soldiers, and he felt that displaying them openly would be to dishonour their memory, reducing their sacrifice to a simple piece of metal or fabric.

He tapped through the cogitator's text interface, feeling clumsy and slow outside of the mind-link connection to _Mors Mortis_. An image flashed up, grainy and distorted by weapons fire. It showed one of the enemy craft that the _Gloriam_ had engaged, and had been captured at extreme range.

It was a humanoid design, and reminiscent of the battlesuits of the Tau, although its size and void-combat capabilities marked it as being of different origin to those. The _Gloriam_'s sensors had measured it as sixteen meters tall, from foot to head, and it was of slender build next to any other comparably-sized craft. Its exterior armour was off-white, and it carried a bulky weapon in both hands.

He flicked through data until he found another image, this one of one of the craft's guns, bordered by a set of damage diagnostics and power estimations. The weapon used some form of plasma technology, although it appeared to be far more stable and controlled than the unruly weapons used by the Imperium. Damage readouts showed only negligible shield depletion, and Silas wondered if the weapons were only weak against shielding, or if they were just underpowered for their size and energy readings.

Then… there were the other enemies, including one that Captain Laenoth had been in communication with. He brought up an image of it, and found that it was accompanied by a set of technical estimations. The craft was larger than the others, approximately eighteen meters, and was a deep red in colour. Its form was harsher then the others, with spikes and angles at every joint.

Its weapons systems were active, and it held a flashing energy sword in one hand, and a flaring whip in the other. The sword had been seen to carve through Fury's with no resistance, and plainly used advanced energy manipulation and shaping technology to hold its form. The whip, however, appeared to have a solid core, and data reading suggested it used a thermal energy field to melt through armour. Fury's recovered from the combat which had been damaged by the whip showed a much greater physical deformation, which indicated that the thermal field took time to burn through its target, time enough that the solid core could make impact.

The craft appeared to be highly manoeuvrable, and was capable of near-instant direction changes. Its reaction times were phenominal, and measured in the milliseconds. Nontheless, the report from Laenoth testified that the _Gloriam_'s lances had scored a glancing hit on the craft, and had done heavy damage.

His thoughts were interrupted when the comm system activated with a burst of static.

"Princeps Xanax to the bridge, effective immediately. Repeat, Princeps Xanax to the bridge."

Silas sighed, and closed down the cogitator, apologising to its Machine Spirit for the abruptness and lack of appeasement. He stood. What could have happened? The _Honourblade_ wasn't due in formation for another three standard hours.


	6. Irrevocable choices

**Part 6**

Relena nodded to the pilot as she stepped into her personal shuttle. The craft was outfitted to carry twenty people – two rows of padded seats lined the main body – but today, only she would be using it.

"Ready, Miss Relena?" asked the pilot. His voice was smooth, young, but his face was obscured behind a bulky flight helmet.

"Yes," she replied. "Take us up, Mr Chellan."

He flipped switches across the bank of consoles in front of him, and Relena felt a rattle go through the shuttle's hull as its engines powered up. "What destination?" he asked. "One of the Colonies?"

She shook her head. "No. Take us up towards the fleet in orbit. Broadcast peaceful hails once we approach within sensor range."

He twisted in his seat. She couldn't see his expression beneath his helmet, but his voice showed his incredulity. "What? Miss Relena, are you sure? We could be shot down before we even see them."

"That's a risk I have to take," she said softly. "The war brewing will destroy all that we have worked so hard to build. I cannot allow that to happen. Take us up, Mr Chellan. I have to speak to whoever is commanding that fleet."

He turned back to the controls, his gestures reluctant as he began preparing the shuttle for lift-off. Relena sat down carefully in one of the chairs, looking contemplatively out of the small rectangular window. She would get only one chance to avert this war, and she had to take it, whatever the consequences. The life of one person was nothing compared to the damage this war would wreak upon humanity.

"Lift-off in thirty seconds, Miss Relena," the pilot said over the intercomm. "Be sure to strap in. Turbulence will be heavy in the first minutes."

She buckled the seat's straps around her. Her eyes were locked to the window. Her course was set. But what about the others? What about the Gundam pilots, the catalysts of the Earth's current situation? Where were they?

_Heero…_

Was he, even now, heading towards the enemy fleet, intent upon destroying it alone? Such a suicidal course of action was one she could easily ascribe to Heero, but somehow, she knew that he would not do it. Somehow, she knew that he had changed, deep down.

"Lift-off in five," announced the pilot. "Four. Three. Two. One. Zero."

She gripped the cushioned arms of her chair as the shuttle rocked. Its thrusters ignited with a roar that she heard even through the hull's automatic sound dampers, and she saw the broad runway disappear rapidly behind the shuttle. She fought off the queasiness that always came with takeoff, concentrating instead on the way the ground seemed to tilt from within the shuttle as its artificial gravity generator kicked in, keeping her firmly in her seat despite the shuttle's now-vertical ascension.

Her course was set, but what of the others?

* * *

"Zechs?"

Milliardo struggled to consciousness, and winced at the bright, blurred light that assailed his eyes. "I'm… not… Zechs…" he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Quatre leaned over him, the blond-haired pilot's face filling his vision. "What was that?" Quatre said. "Zechs, you've been injured. You took a direct hit from that monstrosity's weapon."

Milliardo pushed Quatre weakly out of the way, and managed to sit up. His vision swam for a moment, and then returned. It was still slightly blurred. The room around him was light grey, with bright strip lighting. Beds lined the floor, and medical apparatus dotted the walls. "Where am I?" he asked faintly.

"Take it easy," replied Quatre. "We're in the Peacemillion. We've retreated well away from the new fleet."

"We're headed towards the Lunar Base." The newcomer's voice was cold and hard, matter of fact, without compassion. It was a voice that Milliardo knew well.

"Heero," he said. His voice was starting to return to him now. He could almost talk properly. "I should have known."

Heero walked over to him. "Epyon was hit pretty badly. It's a wonder you got away alive."

"Epyon…" said Milliardo. "How much damage?"

"Its left side is completely ruined. The heat lash is destroyed, as well as its left arm and leg. The cockpit was opened to hard vacuum, and a lot of the more delicate systems were wrecked. The sensors are burned out. Most of the manoeuvring thrusters are gone. The mechanics are working on it, but it's going to be a while before Epyon goes anywhere."

Milliardo swung his legs out over the side of the bed, wincing as his head throbbed painfully. "You… saved me."

"We couldn't just leave you to die out there!" said Quatre. "I don't know why you were with White Fang, but that doesn't make you my enemy."

"Zechs… Milliardo," said Heero. "Did Epyon tell you anything in the fight? Anything about the enemy?"

Miliardo shook his head. "Nothing. The ZERO system knows nothing about these newcomers."

Quatre glanced over at Heero. "Is Wufei okay?"

"Yes. Altron is being repaired now, and the space modifications to Trowa's Heavyarms are being fitted. If we fight these new ships, we'll need to be ready."

Milliardo nearly stayed silent, but the Gundam pilots were his enemy by circumstance only. They were honourable fighters. They deserved to know. "You can't win," he said.

"Wing Zero and the others can take out that ship," Heero said.

Milliardo grimaced. "That ship, yes. But there are more of them. They should be entering orbit now. You can't beat all of them. An attack in space now, when they are all gathered together, would be pointless."

"We don't have to get close," Heero said. "Wing Zero's twin buster cannon can take them out from a distance."

"No it can't," said Milliardo. "They have shielding powerful enough to take the fire of nearly eighty Virgo's for however long that battle was, without flickering. That buster cannon might be able to take down their shields after a few shots, but by then the other ships will have killed you."

The door slid open with a hiss. "Well aren't you cheery?" said a voice.

Duo stepped forwards through the door, flipping his long braid over his shoulder and lifting a tray of coffee mugs. "Drinks, anyone?"

Quatre took one and sipped the piping hot coffee. "Thanks," he said. Heero and Milliardo refused.

"Wufei just woke up," said Duo. "He's pretty shaken by the pounding he took from the _Libra_, but he's ready to get them back as soon as Altron's repaired."

"That's great!" said Quatre.

"He can't go by himself," Heero said quietly. "If we attack, we have to attack together."

Milliardo closed his eyes, and slid off the bed and onto his feet. They couldn't beat this new fleet by themselves, but if they didn't want to listen, then he wasn't going to waste his breath. "I need to get to the _Libra_," he said.

"Are you joking?" exclaimed Duo. "Epyon's nearly destroyed, you've just come round, and all you can think of is getting back to your damn battleship? Come on, man!"

"I don't have time to waste here," Milliardo replied, and walked over to the door, trying not to show the nausea he felt. "Give me a shuttle, and I'll go."

"You aren't going."

Milliardo looked round. Heero was standing by the bed, staring at him. A large pistol was aimed unwaveringly at his forehead. "If what you say is even half true, then a fractured attack cannot defeat this fleet. If we let you go now, then _Libra_ will be destroyed in isolation, and then the Earth will be unprotected."

Milliardo walked to the door, ignoring Heero's gun. "Then so be it. Shoot me if you must."

Heero's finger must have tightened on the trigger, because Quatre leapt forwards from behind him, arms spread, blocking Heero's shot. "No!" the blond man shouted. "Heero, we didn't save him just so you could shoot him now!"

Milliardo glanced back over his shoulder at Quatre. "Let him. If I die, I die. It doesn't matter where." He swept out of the room. Heero didn't shoot.

The corridor outside the medical bay – if that was where he had been – was blank, featureless. There were no directions, but he needed none. This had been _his_ ship, before. Before… what? What had changed?

_Everything…_

His steps echoed loudly as he walked, a sharp, steady _click-click_ on the metal deck. He had to get to the _Libra_, but not for the reasons that Heero had suspected. Without his guidance, Quinze would have the White Fang use the newly-completed _Libra_ to attack the newcomers. That would be the end of the White Fang, he knew. Even the _Libra_, powerful as it was, could barely stand up to just that ship that he had fought. An entire fleet of them would be unstoppable.

He slowed, then stopped as he reached a slightly open door. He looked inside. Lucrezia Noin sat at a desk, staring blankly at a computer monitor. Her hair – a purple so dark it was almost black – was ragged, untidy. She was slumped low, as if exhausted. He stepped inside, and she turned.

"Zechs!" she said, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Noin, I am Zechs Marquise no longer. Now, I am Milliardo Peacecraft," he said softly.

"I thought you were gone!" she said. "When that beam hit you, I thought- I thought that you were dead-"

"Zechs Marquise _is_ dead," he said. "Along with the Sanc Kingdom. You no longer owe me anything, Lucrezia."

She nodded, and he was surprised to see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I know… I just wish… I wish that I could…"

"I know," said Milliardo. He walked over to her. "I have to leave this ship. Come with me one last time."

She looked up at him. "You're- you're leaving? Why?"

"I have to get to the _Libra_ before it attacks."

"Then it _is_ true. You _are_ with the White Fang. Why, Milliardo? What do they offer you?"

He closed his eyes. "A purpose," he said quietly. "Everything in my life has lost its meaning. I fight, but I have nothing to fight for."

She sighed softly. "All right, Milliardo. I'll come with you. When do we leave?"

"Now," he said, and walked from the room. Her Taurus would be in the hangar. That was where he needed to be.

* * *

Silas entered the bridge. A dull roar filled huge chamber, the intermixed sounds of hundreds of crewmembers and servitors working, laced with the grinding and whirring of cogitators and machines. Incense filled the bridge, grey smoke curling upwards from a group of Techpriests as they administered to the Machine Spirits of the ship.

He walked up the central walkway, and approached the Captain from behind. He stopped a half-dozen paces from the tall woman, and coughed discretely, standing to attention. It was not required – he was, technically speaking, above her in the overall fleet chain of command – but while he was on her ship, it was best to offer courtesy.

She turned. The left side of her face was obscured by a twisting, pitted scar that ran from her bottom lip to above her ear. Her left eye was a piercing red augmetic. "Princeps."

"Captain," replied Silas. "You summoned me?"

"I did," she said. "A small craft has been detected on long-range scanners. It left the atmosphere of AM-PDA-004 approximately twenty standard minutes ago, and is headed directly towards the fleet. As the closest vessel, we have been ordered to intercept and capture or destroy the craft."

"Capture or destroy?" asked Silas. It was unusual for a captain of a mere transport to be given any leeway in orders.

"We are to use our best discretion. If the craft is armed, it is to be destroyed. If not, or if it is only lightly armed, then it is to be captured, and the crew interrogated."

"Why are you informing me of this?"

"Because I was instructed to. You are to participate in any interrogation as senior-ranking personnel aboard. And you are to oversee any weapons activity that may arise."

Silas nodded. "Very well. How long until the craft approaches within engagement range?"

"Ensign Veritas!"

Down in the crew pit below the raised command pulpit, a dark-haired man raised his head. A seemingly innumerable series of wires twisted and scrabbled against each other with his movement – augmetic links to the _Honourblade_'s sensors. He had no legs, and was interfaced directly with his station at the waist. He face was half-covered with jacks and interface ports, and his right arm was a snakelike link-cable.

"ETA of enemy craft!"

His voice, when it emerged, was harsh and mechanical, the grating of artificial vocal chords. "Twenty-eight point six three nine standard Terran minutes, Captain."

"There is your answer, Princeps."

"I will be in the main hold if you need me," said Silas. He turned and walked from the bridge. He had to be completely calm and collected for an interrogation. _Mors Mortis_ always helped him to calm down.


	7. Reception

Part 7 

"We're almost in sensor range."

Relena looked up, brought out of her thoughts by her pilot's voice. Almost there. Almost to the single largest challenge of her life. If she could pull this off successfully, she could save thousands, millions, of lives.

"My God!" exclaimed her pilot. "They're huge!"

She stood and moved forwards. The shuttle seemed perfectly still, despite its flight. The artificial gravity held everything motionless and serene. She leaned over his shoulder, scanning the sensor screens.

"Is that them?" she asked, pointing to a group of large shapes on the display. They were spread out in orbit over the northern hemisphere, thousands of kilometers between them.

"That's them," he replied. "But look at this." He tapped the largest of the shapes, and the display magnified it. A text box popped up next to it, specifications scrolling across it. "The sensors put this monster as more than seventeen kilometers long! Even the Libra is only a kilometer across! Just think of the destructive power in that thing."

She stared at the blinking image. Why would anyone wish to construct something so huge? Something so aggressive? Seventeen kilometers of warship, designed and built solely to destroy. The thought made her shudder with revulsion.

"Hold on," said Chellan. "We're being hailed. Bringing it up now."

He flipped a series of switches, and a monitor flashed to life. A grainy, static-filled image appeared on it, accompanied by bars of scrolling runes that she didn't recognise.

The image was that of a man, although he looked more like a nightmare than a human. His blocky face was pockmarked with ports and wires, and a thick, segmented cable emerged from his left eye socket. He was bald, and countless wires trailed from his skull, dull lights flickering and sparking. From the eyes down, his face was a mechanical reconstruction. His jaw was square, and appeared to be made of iron, while his mouth was a thin opening amidst a mass of wires and cables. He had no nose, and where it should have been, a brass cogwheel had been attached.

When he spoke, his voice was a mechanical buzz, but Relena cringed as she caught a faint echo of humanity beneath it. "Unidentified craft," he announced, "I am Sensor Ensign Veritas, of the Adeptus Mechanicus heavy transport vessel _Honourblade_. Supply data and identification of your craft. You are targeted for weapons fire."

Chellan glanced at her, as horrified as she was at the cyborg's aggression and hostility. He punched a set of keys, and cleared his throat. "This the private shuttle _Peace_, property of Miss Relena Peacecraft. We are unarmed, and wish to extend diplomatic relations only."

Sparks flickered over the cyborg's face. "Transfer relevant data files to the _Honourblade_, shuttle. Do not deviate from your current vector. We will transmit our position, and an appropriate approach vector. If you are truly unarmed, as you say. If weaponry is detected, you will be treated as hostile combatants, and destroyed."

Relena leaned forwards over Chellan's shoulder as he loaded and transferred the data, so her face could be seen on the display sent to the _Honourblade_. "What happened to you?" she asked, tentatively.

The cyborg looked confused, or at least, she thought he did. It was difficult to read his face, with half of it made up of expressionless metal. "I have been given the blessing of the Machine God," he said. "I have moved beyond the weakness of the flesh, and into the perfection of the machine."

She recoiled. "You mean… you did this voluntarily?"

"Who would not wish to become one with the machine?" he asked. "Flesh is weak. Nonessential. I need no extraneous functions to fulfil my duty, and so I have none. Excess is imperfection."

How could someone mutilate himself so willingly? What could drive a man to such horrors? What kind of indoctrination did these people go through to twist their minds so completely?

"We have a location," said Chellan. "And we're not being shot at, so I guess the data must have checked out as well." He tapped a flashing blip on the display, the closest craft to them, and it lit up. Specs and vectors scrolled across the screen. "Hm, this one's small, compared with the others. I guess it must just be that it's the closest."

"Or that they don't trust strangers aboard their leader's ship," said Relena. "Bring us in, Chellan."

"Roger," he said. He flicked back to the communication channel with the cyborg Ensign. "Coming to your heading, _Honourblade_. Arrival in forty eight seconds. Cutting transmission." He flicked a switch down, and the image of Veritas died.

As the shuttle turned about onto its new heading, Chellan looked at her. "Who _are_ these people?" he asked.

She stared out of the forward viewport. The transport was starting to come into view, a faint light ahead. "I don't know," she said. "But we'll find out soon enough."

The _Honourblade_ grew steadily larger as the shuttle approached it, looming huge in the viewports. She couldn't guess at its size, but I dwarfed her shuttle, a huge length of crimson and grey. Gothic spires and gargoyles decorated its hull, and huge letters of brass had been fixed to its sides. Its prow was a narrow, daggerlike shield that swept forwards to a reinforced point.

A massive, blocky shape protruded from a dorsal mount, studded with blinking lights and leering faces. A weapon, she realised, as it tracked her shuttle on its approach. The barrel of the weapon was wider than the shuttle was long, and it glowed from within with an electric blue light.

They closed enough that they could no longer see the weapon, flying close to the transport's hull. Close enough to see the 'decorations' in all their grim horror. Screaming faces and tortured bodies formed columns and vents, and devil-faced gargoyles perched atop spiked protrusions. A docking bay loomed large suddenly, and Chellan guided the shuttle in towards it.

He was visibly unsettled, she saw, at the transport's appearance. The smooth, sleek design of Earth and the Colonies were nowhere to be seen, all sense of the familiar devoured by the oppressive craft. The docking bay was huge, easily large enough to house a hundred craft the size of her shuttle, and empty.

Chellan eased the shuttle down into the center of the bay, and settled it down onto its landing struts. The shuttle's engines died as he cut the power, and Relena felt a judder as its artificial gravity was replaced by that of the _Honourblade_. The access hatch opened smoothly, and she tentatively stepped out.

The docking bay was dark. Gloom had settled over every corner, shadows waiting under every object. A greyness seemed to cover the air, and the lights overhead barely penetrated to the deck.

Workers went about their business, not even noticing the shuttle. The sharp _clack-clack_ on mechanical limbs on the deck filled the dimness, and she tried not to pay too much attention to them. Vomiting would not be a good start to diplomatic relations.

The walls were lined with gothic columns of iron, with sharp blades lancing out from them. She saw, high up near the roof, nearly lost in darkness, the torso of a man protruding from one. His lower body was lost in wires, and she had the sickening impression that his legs had been severed to integrate him into the column. One of his arms had been replaced with a many-barrelled cannon, the other with a bulky sensor array. She looked away as he saw her, his weapon tracking her movements.

Four figures walked towards her. The front three wore long, brass-edged crimson robes, and what little could be seen of their limbs was polished metal. Each had a cogwheel symbol in brass upon the chests of their robes, and it was banded around the base of their cowls. The rear figure wore a uniform of black, banded in crimson. Brass epaulettes decorated his shoulders, and waist-length hair trailed down behind him, a shimmering wave of midnight black. His features could be clearly seen, and were aristocratic, sculpted. His eyes were startling red.

The four stopped in front of her. A mechanical tentacle slipped out from the robes of the lead one, and a harsh light at the end of it played over her. She tried her best to ignore it. The smell of cloying incense assaulted her nostrils.

"You are the passenger on this shuttle?" asked the leader, retracting his segmented arm. His voice was a robotic drone, and emerged from a grated speaker built into his throat.

She quelled her riotous stomach, and said, "I am. My name is Relena Peacecraft."

He nodded to himself, and stepped past her. He and the two other robed figures inspected her shuttle, more of the tentacles snaking from their robes. She looked at the man that had remained.

"Are you the captain of this ship?" she asked.

"Me?" he said. His voice was low, smooth. "No. I am Princeps Silas Xanax, or the Warlord Titan _Mors Mortis_. I rank above the Captain of this transport, but that's not why I am here."

Princeps? Titan? She had no idea what these things were, but she elected to ignore it, for now. "Why _are_ you here?"

He looked past her, and she heard the buzzing voice of the robed man behind her. "The vessel is unsanctified. Unclean. It is an abomination in the eyes of the Omnissiah."

The man – Silas Xanax, he had called himself – nodded. "Destroy it," he said.

Relena made to protest, but the snakelike tentacles wrapped around her arms and legs, holding her in place. She tried to pull against them, but they wouldn't budge. "What are you doing?" She cried. "Chellan is still aboard! Why are you doing this?"

Silas Xanax stepped forwards and calmly backhanded her across the face. She stiffened at the crack of the blow, and let her head swing round with the force. Her cheek burned like fire, but she brought her head back round, staring at Silas with unconcealed anger.

"Your place is not to speak, heretic, but to accept," he said. "And, when the time comes, to die. Now, be silent, and accompany me."

He turned on his heel and walked smartly out of the docking bay. She felt the tentacles around her legs unravel themselves, and she was pushed forwards by the robed man behind her. She walked stiffly after the Princeps, feeling unaccountably betrayed. She didn't know why; she had only met the man for thirty seconds, but his actions stung her to the core.

She had reached the high, arched doorway of the bay when the shuttle was destroyed. Weapons, carried by figures like that she had spotted high upon the wall, cycled and fired with a thunderous roar. Thousands of rounds shredded the thin hull of the shuttle to shreds. The cockpit disintegrated under the fire, and then a shot caught the shuttle's fuel tanks, and it exploded violently into flames. The concussion made her stumble forwards, and the heat of the flames burned her back.

And through it all, she heard Chellan's voice screaming in her mind.

Her head hung limp on her shoulders. Tears stung at her eyes as she walked, and she let them flow. Who were these monsters, to so casually kill? How could they end the life of a good man like Chellan? Why?

The shuttle had been unsanctified, they had said. What did that mean? On what religious whim had her friend died? In the name of which God?

"Prepare interrogation bay four-alpha."

It was the voice of the betrayer, the Princeps. She looked up through blurry eyes. He was talking to two of the robed figures. "You will conduct the interrogation personally?" asked one of the figures.

He nodded. "Yes. Inform the Captain."

"As you command, Princeps Xanax," buzzed the figure, and they turned off down a narrow corridor. That left only Silas, the last figure, and herself.

Interrogation. She was going to be interrogated. The word rung in her mind, like some horrible talisman. After all she had done, after all she had worked for, she was to end here in some alien ship, tortured for information. Heat welled up inside her, a core of anger, rage, that burned within her chest. No. She would not die here. If she died, all chance of stopping this war would be gone.


	8. Revelation

Part 8

Who _was_ this woman? What had possessed her to come up, alone, to attempt to talk with the fleet? What kind of naïveté could bring someone to believe such a course of action could have any result other than death?

Silas looked back at her, out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes burned with defiance, and she visibly tensed under his gaze. Her long hair, bound into a waist-length braid, was in disarray, strands floating free from their bindings.

"Adept Heldengraf," he said. The Techpriest holding her looked up. "You can release the heretic. She is unarmed, and I am not. You may join the others in preparation for the landing."

"That is not logical, Princeps," said Heldengraf. "I calculate a nineteen point seven percent chance that the heretic could overpower you alone. With my continued presence, that chance drops to only three point two percent. If she remains bound, it drops further, to zero point zero one percent."

Silas watched her as she became aware of what he was saying. Possibilities danced through her eyes, and then she sagged faintly, feigning defeat. He had to admire her spirit, and sheer force of will to continue to entertain hopes of success in such a situation.

"There are too many unknown factors to rely on logic alone, Adept. You are dismissed. I will detain the heretic just as easily alone as I would with your presence."

Heldengraf's mechadendrites uncurled from around the woman's arms, and the Techpriest stepped reluctantly past her. His glowing optic augmetics rotated to focus on Silas. "Very well, Princeps. I shall assist the others in the preparations for landings."

He saw the woman's eyes widen again, but, just as before, it lasted only an instant before she composed herself. He would never have caught it if he hadn't been watching for it. She was definitely more than a simple heretic.

"Very well, Adept," he said. Heldengraf walked stiffly from the access corridor, pausing momentarily to activate a sliding door with the interface modules on his mechadendrites. He stepped through and was gone.

Silas turned to the woman. She was standing where she had been left, rubbing her arms surreptitiously where the mechadendrites had restrained her. Her sharp eyes were fixed to his own.

"Come with me," he said, and turned away. He walked down the corridor without looking back. He knew she would follow. Where else did she have to go? Sure enough, after he had gone a few paces, he heard the soft sounds of her tread on the metal floor of the corridor, following him.

He could almost feel her eyes on him as he walked. By rights, he should be behind her, but somehow, he knew that this woman would not run. And if she did, it was a long, straight corridor, and he had the only gun. She wouldn't get far, and she knew it.

He stopped in front of a large, rectangular outline in the wall. He raised his hand to the center of the outline, and a soft red light played over his palm. It read the electoos implanted below his skin, and the rectangular section of wall slid apart with a hiss. He stepped inside. She followed.

Into his chambers, not the torture room.

He crossed the room to the cogitator, and tapped a raised switch, sealing the room. He looked at the woman. She was standing just inside the door, looking far calmer than she had to feel. And a good deal less confused, as well.

"What is your name? I recall you said something to Heldengraf in the docking bay, but I confess, it eludes me."

She looked taken aback at his manner, and visibly composed herself before replying. "I am Relena Peacecraft, former Queen of the World Nation. Why… where have you brought me?"

He gestured to the small table against the back wall. "Take a seat, Relena. You may be a heretic in the eyes of the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor, but you seem to be one of the more reasonable ones. I'd like to talk to you, before you are taken to the torture chamber." _And I still have the only gun_, he almost added, but stopped himself. She didn't need the reminder.

She swallowed slightly, and sat.. "Ask. If you are going to torture me anyway, I may as well just tell you now, and save myself the trouble. And the pain. How could you condone such cruelty?"

He blinked. Cruelty? "The enemies of the Emperor deserve only death," he said, quoting from the Scriptorius Munitorum. "They – and you – have forsaken His light, and His protection. You have chosen to stand against Humanity's salvation, and for that, nothing is too harsh. Leniency is the first step on the road to destruction."

She drew back. "How- how could you be so cold? How can anyone be so cruel to other people, over a simple disagreement? Because they do not choose the same leader as you, you kill them?"

"Yes," he said, simply. What kind of delusions had possessed this woman? "The God-Emperor is humanity's salvation, and those who stand against His work are heretics and deserve only death. They would see the Imperium stagnate into ruin, beset on all sides by our enemies, ripped asunder for the Dark Gods to feast upon the remains. How can you even suggest leniency towards that?"

She looked horrified for a moment, and then composed herself slightly. "What is this Imperium that you speak of?" she asked.

Did this woman know nothing of the galaxy outside her own system? "The Imperium of Man is the largest and most powerful realm in the galaxy. Over a million inhabited worlds fall under its auspices. Countless trillions of loyal servants of the Emperor populate the stars. In His divine mercy, the God-Emperor watches over all from the Golden Throne of Terra, as he has done for the past ten millennia."

"Ten thousand years…" she whispered. "Ten thousand years of cruelty. Why have the people not risen up against this Emperor, this tyrant? Why has he not been stopped?"

Silas fought to contain the shock and anger at the heretic's denouncement of the God-Emperor. He wanted, right then, to shoot her on the spot, but somehow, from somewhere, he found the strength of will to restrain himself.

"You will never utter such filth again, heretic," he grated. "The God-Emperor of Humanity is mankind's rightful master, our one chance for life amidst a galaxy of death. We are beset on all sides by alien horrors too numerous to count, attacked from without by the daemonic minions of Chaos, from within by heretics and traitors, and yet you, who face no conflict but that of your own manufacture, you dare to criticise? It is only by coincidence of our shared ancestry that your planet survives still, Relena Peacecraft, and that is a fact you had best remember."

The colour had drained from her face, but she remained sat resolutely where she was. "I apologise," she managed to say. "I did not realise the situation."

He fought his way to calmness. Calm. The cool security of logic. Decisions made on emotions were flawed decisions. "Now you do," he said heavily. "How can you be so ignorant? What naïveté possesses your culture, to think you are alone and safe in the stars? How can you survive without good, honest hatred to sustain you?"

"We survive," she said, "because, until now, we _have _been alone in the stars. It is not naïve to desire peace, Silas Xanax, whatever you may believe. If more people looked for peace, then your Imperium's problems would disappear, instead of festering for ten millennia."

"If more people looked for peace we would be consumed by our enemies," he countered. "The Imperium is fragile, on the brink of destruction. It is only through the sacrifice of thousands each day that we re able to survive. And yet you would cheapen their sacrifice by denouncing all that they fight for?"

She shook her head. "No. Not what they fight for. Only that it is necessary that they fight in the first place. Diplomacy can surmount more obstacles than conflict can. Peace can solve problems, war can only create them."

"And you would attempt diplomacy with the foes of mankind? You would attempt to hold peace talks with the mindless hordes of the Tyranids, with the mechanical legions of the Necrons? You would negotiate with the Orks? You would attempt _compromise_?"

"I don't know of these aliens," she said. "But surely war is not the only answer? Surely compromise is preferable to the deaths of thousands?"

"And what would you know, Relena Peacecraft? What have you had to give up?"

"My nation," she said. "The Sanc Kingdom was subsumed into the World Nation when I became Queen. Now, we attempt to halt the White Fang's attacks from space. Attempted," she added. "Now you have arrived, everything has changed."

"One nation? In the darkness of the Horus Heresy, the entire galaxy was torn asunder. It has taken ten thousand years, and still we have not regained what we lost. The Golden Age of humanity, when the God-Emperor walked amongst mortals, and the Primarchs strode at his side, is lost to us, and all for a moment of laxity, for our lenience. The greatest of the Primarchs was turned by the foul powers of the warp, and became the Arch-Heretic, the Betrayer, and it took the sacrifice of the Emperor's mortal shell to stop him. The entire Imperium burned, Relena Peacecraft. It tore itself apart, and that shall never be allowed to happen again. One tiny country is nothing to what we have lost. A few million lives, if that, compared to trillions dead, and trillions fallen."

She looked taken aback by his vehemence. "Again," she said quietly. "I am sorry. Your Imperium is vastly different to my own experiences. But why have you come here? What has driven you to take note of us?"

Silas closed his eyes. This woman was testing him. "'There can be no bystanders in the battle for survival'," he quoted. "'Anyone who will not fight by your side is an enemy you must crush'." He looked into her eyes. "Which will you be, Relena Peacecraft? An ally or an enemy?"

She was testing him, and yet… There was something about her. A presence, a force behind her words, that struck him. Her words were heretical, yes, but he thought that she herself could be made to see the truth.

She didn't answer for a moment, and then finally said, "I cannot answer that. I am no longer Queen. I cannot speak for the World Nation, nor for the White Fang."

There it was again. Queen. An archaic title, but those were usually the ones with the most support from the citizenry. Maybe she could be put to more uses than could be found on the torture slab.

"You were Queen?" he probed. "What age are you?"

"I am eighteen," she said. "And I was a true Queen, not a puppet like you must suspect. I built the World Nation into what it is today." She faltered. "And now you have arrived and torn it down."

A charismatic ruler at that, then. One loved by the people, it seemed. Perhaps she _could_ be valuable. If news of her death reached the planet, she could be a martyr, a rallying point in the coming conflict. If she remained alive, she could be a method of control. The idea had merits.

"We have been too long," he said, unsealing the door. "We must go."

She stood, and took a step towards him. "Why? Are you in such a rush to begin your torture?" Her face was grim, determined. She would never go along without causing a disturbance.

"No. You will be far more valuable alive and… undamaged." He walked into his bedchamber, and grabbed a long, black robe from its stand. He threw it to her. "Here. Put this on, and you won't be recognised if we encounter any Techpriests."

She shrugged it onto her shoulders, and pulled up the baggy hood. It hid her face in deep shadow, and shrouded her form. "Who are the Techpriests?" she asked.

He walked out of his room, making sure she followed, and then sealed the door again. He set off down the corridor, back the way they had come. "They are the servants of the Omnissiah, the Machine God, the Deus Mechanicus. They construct and minister to the machines of the fleet."

"You mean they worship a machine?" she asked as she followed him.

"No. They worship knowledge itself. The Omnissiah is the source of all knowledge, and the source of all power."

"I see." Silas highly doubted that. "Where are we going?"

"The holding bay."

"But we just came from there." She sounded confused.

"Not that holding bay. The main bay."

He reached the doors to the docking bay that she had entered through. Just before them, on the right, was an access transporter. He offered his palm again, and it activated after reading his sub-dermal electoos. The doors slid open, and he and Relena stepped inside.

The transporter took them to the center of the ship in barely three seconds. It was neither smooth nor quiet, but it was fast. And in a ship, speed was all that mattered. The doors opened again, and they stepped out, beside the great doors to the main hold.

He entered, and was almost swept from his feet by swarming servitors and Techpriests. The surface deployment was imminent, and frantic last-minute preparations were being made. He forced a path through the doors, and then Relena saw it.

Standing in the center of the old like some behemoth of legend, _Mors Mortis_ was an awe-inspiring sight. The solid black of its carapace seemed to drain the light from the chamber, and the polished brass trim shone brightly in stark contrast. Its skull-masked face stared death down into the thronging servitors below.

He heard Relena gasp in horror and shock, and glanced back at her. She was staring up at the Titan, eyes wide, mouth open. Her hood had fallen back, exposing her face. He reached back and pulled it up. There was no danger from the servitors, or course, but any of the techpriests could have a log of her appearance from Heldengraf's initial scan of her upon arrival.

"What _is_ that?" she breathed.

"That," he said, "is _Mors Mortis_. It is a Warlord Titan of the Legio Gryphonicus. It is me."

"You?" she asked. "How can that be possible?"

"I control _Mors Mortis_ not through the crude manual mechanisms of lesser machines, but through a mind-impulse link. We are melded; I become it and it becomes me." He began to push his way through the servitors, noticing that Relena avoided looking at them.

She stayed silent as they moved, knowing without Silas having to tell her that to speak would be to reveal her identity to all in earshot. Eventually, they managed to reach _Mors Mortis_' foot. Silas offered his hand again, and a doorway in the side of one huge toe opened up.

They walked inside, into barely-lit dimness. The Titan was functioning on reserve power, excess stored from the last mission, now used to power emergency lights and essential systems. It would be the same until the landing, when the huge plasma reactor at its heart would activate and flood the God-Machine with energy.

Silas stepped up to a cogitator station built into the wall inside. He activated it with a press of a button. He leaned close. "Identify: Princeps Silas Xanax. Access to the command throne. Activate transporter."

The cogitator hummed as it analysed his voice patterns, and a narrow door slid open to Silas' right. He and Relena stepped inside, and, with the same speed as on the _Honourblade_, it rocketed them to the Titan's head.

When they stepped out of the transporter, the command area was well-lit. The Titan's systems had shunted power from other areas to provide power for the princeps. He walked over to the bulkhead to his left, and pried open a panel on its surface.

"This is storage for spare ammunition," he said to Relena. It is empty now. Hide n there. _Mors Mortis_ will detect you, and will not shut down the oxygen generators while you are there."

She just looked at him. "I am to hide in a storage compartment?"

"Would you prefer torture?" Silas ground his teeth. "Get in. If you are found, you will be killed. I am risking my life now, and you must not be found before landing."

She got in.

He shut the panel. "Do not come out until I call you. Landing will begin in…" he checked his chrono. "…forty-six minutes. Do not come out."


	9. Preparations

Part 9

Treize nodded for the Colonel to begin, and sat forwards in his high-backed chair.

The Colonel took one look around the conference room, taking in the military commanders assembled around the large world map that dominated the center of the room, and then cleared his throat.

"Sirs, As you all will undoubtedly know, the enemy force has yet to engage in a ground landing. They have concentrated all their efforts on the destruction of the remaining space installations, including the Lunar Base, and even the Colonies themselves.

"The Colonies were attacked with a weapon of unknown type, mounted on three of the enemy space craft – on the largest, presumably the flagship, and two smaller cruisers. In all cases, a single shot was enough to cause sufficient damages to the Colonies to render them uninhabitable, if not outright destroy them. Colonies L3 and L5 are the only two that could be considered salvageable. The others are damages so severely that they are little more than floating scrap.

"However, there are two elements that are unnacounted for: the _Peacemillion_, now believed to serve as the base of operations for the Gundams, and the _Libra_. How the _Libra_ managed to escape destruction is unknown, but it is likely that it took shelter in the mass shadow of the moon. If this was the case, then its energy emissions would have been obscured by the backlash of the Lunar Base's destruction."

The Colonel paused, and tapped a key on the bottom of the wall-mounted screen behind him. An image of the Earth appeared, taken from space. Superimposed over it were a series of crimson markers, spread over the entire surface..

"The markers show the rough positioning of the enemy ships, as best we could determine. Our analysts are of the opinion that their formation, spread thin to cover almost the entire surface from high orbit, is a containment formation, intended to intercept and destroy any space-borne forces that we deploy."

He raised an arm and pointed to a group of smaller marker, huddled together between two larger ones.

"These smaller craft are likely to be transports for troops, or possibly Mobile Suits. However, data from the instances of enemy contact suggests that the enemy do not make use of Mobile Suit technology, instead preferring massed ordnance and assault craft. The transports are gathered here, in geostationary orbit above Africa. It is there that their ground landings should take place."

Treize lifted a hand, and the Colonel retreated a few steps towards the door. "Thank you, Colonel," he said.

He turned to the other personnel around the map table. "Generals," he said, and they turned to face him. "We have had ample time to witness the power of these enemies in space combat. It has become clear that, even if the _Libra_ could be utilised, we could not defeat them there. So we will not."

He swept a hand up to the display. "We know where they will make planetfall. We can even begin to guess when. What we do not know is the extent of their ground firepower, or the degree to which their space craft are capable of supporting their ground troops."

General Bosun, a tall, stocky man with close-cropped grey hair, stood. "So you want us to gamble everything on a counter attack after they have landed? When we don't even know what troops they have?"

Treize smiled grimly. "Not after they have landed, no. _While_ they are landing. We will never have a greater advantage. I mean to commit all our available forces to this battle, Generals. We will strike them while they are still disorganised and disorientated, and wipe them from the Earth."

Bosun faltered. "All our forces? That would leave everywhere else undefended! What if they defeat us in Africa, or land somewhere else?"

"If they defeat us in Africa, when we have nearly all our strength gathered, then how could we defeat them anywhere else?" countered Treize. "There will be elements of our forces that are unready, or simply too far away, to take part in the battle. If the battle is unsuccessful, then they will provide a defence force."

Bosun sat down grudgingly. "Very well, Commander Kushrenada. But let it be on your head if this kills us all."

Treize nodded. "This is our only chance, Generals. We have to stop them before they can get a foothold in Africa. You are to assemble all the Mobile Suits that you are able to, at the airbase. From there, we shall be moving out to Africa, and the projected drop site. You have ten hours. We leave in twelve."

* * *

"Zechs is gone." 

Heero turned. Trowa stood in the doorway behind him, impassive. "I know," he said simply.

"Don't go after him. We need you here if we are going to try this," Trowa said. "If we are going to go after that ship, then we need every one of us, especially now we've lost Zechs and Noin."

Heero looked back at the Gundams. The five Mobile Suits lined one wall of the large hangar, fully repaired and gleaming in the bright lights. Wing Zero was in the center, resplendent in its shining white and blue paint. He stared into its eyes. "We have to go now."

"Now?" asked Trowa.

"L4 was destroyed two hours ago. Completely annihilated. That's the last of the Colonies. They will land on Earth soon."

A slight hiss sounded, and the door at the other end of the hangar slid open. Quatre entered, and jogged over to Heero and Trowa. "So why not attack while they're distracted?" he asked. He had obviously overheard their conversation, or at least some of it. It was easy to forget how quiet the _Peacemillion_ was.

Heero shook his head. "Right now, their ships are scattered. When the drop begins, they'll bring them all in close to make sure the smaller transports aren't in danger. Remember what Zechs said. We can kill one of them, but not the entire fleet."

"So which one?" asked Trowa.

"We're headed for one of the medium-sized ones – if you can call something that big 'medium-sized'," said Quatre. "It's the one that destroyed L1." He looked at Heero. "I take it that's the one we're after?"

"Yes. We should be nearing it in the next half hour." He walked from the hangar, pausing at the door. "Get ready," he said, and then walked out.

* * *

Captain Vaelor Romana stood in the command pulpit of the _Leviathan_. The Tyrant-class Cruiser was one of the most powerful in the fleet, outstripped only by the _In_ _Gloriam Annihilatum_ and the _Deus Mechanicus_. Ten kilometres of gothic death, the _Leviathan_ had the power to destroy any threat that arose from this puny world. 

Vaelor sneered as he studied the viewscreen showing the planet below. This insignificant world did not warrant the attentions of the entire fleet. The _Leviathan_ alone would be more than sufficient to pound the surface flat and kill every living thing down there.

"Captain!"

Vaelor looked down at the crew pit. The voice had come from one of his sensor officers. "What is it?" he snapped.

"Enemy ship spotted, vector two-eighteen. It is out of main weapons range, but closing with us."

A vicious smile twisted his lips as Vaelor thought this new development over. It was time to show these rebels, these _heretics_, the true power and might of the Imperial Navy.

"Bring us about to face them," he ordered. "Arm torpedoes, charge dorsal lance batteries. Bring the void shields up to full strength. Sensors, are they in Nova Cannon range?"

"They are sir," buzzed an anonymous crewman.

Vaelor straightened and clasped his hands behind the small of his back. "Excellent. Prepare the Nova Cannon to fire. I want that ship wiped out."

"Preparations underway, Captain," said Lieutenant Wochal, his second-in-command. "Manoeuvres complete in eighty six seconds. Torpedoes already armed."

"That was fast," said Vaelor. "Commend the torpedo team's overseer. And the dorsal lances?"

"Twenty-nine percent charged."

"Good. Dispatch security teams to the gun decks. I want no mutinies on this vessel, especially once we have engaged. Any disturbances are to be resolved instantly, with lethal force if necessary."

"Yes sir," said Wochal. "Anything else, Captain?"

"Inform the _Deus Mechanicus_ that we will be temporarily leaving our station to deal with an enemy craft. Make it clear that we will not be long, and the landing schedule will not be affected."

"Very good sir." Wochal saluted smartly, and turned on his heel. As he marched from the command pulpit down to the crew pit, Vaelor looked again at the viewscreen. It had changed; now it displayed sensor telemetry and energy readings from the enemy ship. A small section in the lower left corner was running comparisons with all known Imperial ship types.

His eyes wandered past the screen, and on to the two Techpriests beside it. Both were clad in the heavy crimson robes that signified the Mechanicus, and one carried a brazier of burning incense. "Adepts," he called. "A moment of your time."

The turned at the sound of his voice, and ascended the wide steps to the pulpit with jerking, mechanical steps. Their snake-like mechadendrites coiled around them, sensors and pincers checking their surroundings.

"What is it?" asked the lead one. He was the only Techpriest of the _Leviathan_ who retained his biological vocal chords. The others had to resort to using mechanical voxcasters.

"Ensure that the _Leviathan_'s Machine Spirit is willing to fight this battle. Inform it that I ask for its blessing in this combat."

"Very well," said the Techpriest. They two robed figures walked back down from the pulpit, and exited the Bridge.

"Captain, we are fully oriented on the enemy ship!" called the same sensor officer that had alerted him to its presence initially. Vaelor would have to find out his name, and commend him.

"Weapons," Vaelor barked. "Status of the Nova Cannon?"

"Ready to fire in seventeen seconds, Captain," came the buzzing reply of the mostly-augmetic weapons officer.

"Launch torpedo salvo," Vaelor ordered. Barely ten seconds after he had spoken, two torpedoes speared from the _Leviathan_'s armoured prow, travelling at thousands of kilometres per hour. The torpedoes were each over ten meters long, and contained an immensely destructive plasma warhead, capable of burning entire decks to slag, and gutting lighter craft. Vaelor could only relish what they would do to this enemy.

"Enemy craft manoeuvring!"

"What?" he snapped, turning his head sharply to look at the viewscreen again. Sure enough, the marker representing the enemy craft was changing course, moving diagonally downwards and left, relative to the planet's surface.

"They're going to evade the torpedoes!" called the sensor officer. "Torpedo one… overshot. Damn, that thing can turn. Torpedo two, approaching…"

Vaelor snarled in anger. "Status of the dorsal lance batteries, now!"

"Ninety-one percent charged, Captain," said the weapons officer, his mechanical voice devoid of any emotion.

"Torpedo two, missed," reported the sensor officer. "Enemy craft is deploying… fighters, I think. They don't match any data we have."

"Nova Cannon ready to fire," put in the weapons officer.

Vaelor smiled a predator's smile. "Fire."

The Nova Cannon ran the entire length of the ship, an eight kilometer mass accelerator capable of propelling a projectile at close to light speed. At such speeds the projectile was highly unstable, but that hardly mattered. The sheer destructive power was enough to rip apart capital ships, shields included.

The recoil of the shot was more powerful that the ship's massive thrusters, and the _Leviathan_ visibly slowed with the shot. The projectile crossed the distance between the two ships almost instantly, and detonated less than a thousand meters from the enemy craft's aft in a tempest of blinding light and roaring energy.

The enemy craft disappeared. The blast swallowed it up, and when at last it faded, the craft had simply disintegrated, melted to less than slag by the incredible energies of the shot.

Vaelor took a long, satisfied look at the aftermath of the shot. The blast had been clearly visible, even from the _leviathan_'s bridge, tens of thousands of kilometres away. Such was the wrath of the Imperium.

"Captain, enemy craft approaching!"

"What?" Vaelor snapped, caught off guard. How could anything have survived that?"

"It's the fighters that were deployed just before the Nova Cannon shot, sir! Five of them, but they're moving far too slow to be Furies or Starhawks. In fact, they don't match _anything_, sir, not even each other."

"Explain."

"Their energy readings vary immensely, but all of them are significantly higher than any other ship of their size we've encountered before. And that's another thing; they're tiny. Sensor echoes suggest smaller than twenty metres each."

"Then they'll just die easier," said Vaelor. "Helm, bring us about on a broadside to them. We'll show them our teeth."

"No time sir!" called the helmsman. "Their approach speed gives their ETA at fourteen seconds. At maximum burn, we could swing about in sixty, maybe fifty-five, seconds."

"Fine," Vaelor growled. "We'll play it their way. Acquire firing solutions for the dorsal lances."


	10. The bigger they are

Part 10

"Dammit!" shouted Duo through the radio, as the raging ball of energy where the _Peacemillion_ had been subsided. There was no trace of the ship.

_Howard… Sally… gone?_ Heero felt hollow. _All gone… if we hadn't deployed when we did…_

"How could they do that?" cried Quatre. "The _Peacemillion_ isn't even armed!"

Mastering his emotions, Heero detached himself, focussing on the combat. That was how he had been trained. That was what he knew. Now was not the time for grief.

"Get moving," he said firmly, scanning his sensor board. He fired Wing Zero's thrusters, and the angelic Gundam blasted towards the enemy ship. The others followed, forming a rough formation around him.

The battle would give them something to take their minds from the _Peacemillion_'s death. They needed it. They didn't have the ZERO system to lose themselves in. Not that it would work now. The system was inert. It knew nothing about the capabilities of the opponent, its armament, or its speed. The ZERO system's instant analysis was useless.

_Looks like this battle will be fought on skill alone._ Heero relished the thought, even as he knew that it would make it harder for them to claim victory. It had been too long since he fought on his own merits alone.

"Zechs said they had shields. What's our plan?" asked Wufei. His Altron was to Heero's right, its twin claws gleaming in the backwash from its thrusters.

"We smash through them," said Heero.

When the range-finder scrolled down to four hundred kilometres, he killed the thrusters and activated Zero's retros, bringing it to a dead stop. The abrupt deceleration threw him forwards in his seat, the straps biting into his shoulders through his vacuum suit. He wrenched the controls, bringing Zero's right arm, along with its double beam cannon, up straight, pointing directly at the enemy ship.

Spinning coils of energy whipped from the barrels of the gun as it built up to firing potential, the inside glowing with white-hot light. Heero pulled the trigger.

A beam of energy exploded from the twin barrels, thicker than Zero was tall, spearing directly for the enemy ship. Sparking whips trailed in its wake, and it bathed the five Gundams in white light. It crossed the distance between Zero and its target instantly, hurtling forwards with enough energy to completely obliterate any Mobile Suit, aimed for the center of the armoured, plow-like prow of the ship.

It hit the behemoth's void shields and flared harmlessly off, a slight darkening of their surface the only indication of the weapon's impact.

Heero did not waste time wondering at the strength of the enemy's shields. "Go," he said into the radio. The others blasted ahead, streaking towards the enemy ship on wings of blue flame.

Heero watched them go, waiting for the beam cannon to recharge. They had got within two hundred kilometres before the blinking red lights on his display turned green at last. He sighted on the spot he had hit last time, and pulled the trigger once more.

The beam lanced between the four other Gundams, and hit the ship's shields again. It made the same impression as before. As the energy splashed off the shields, the huge ship retaliated.

Across its spine, pinpricks of light flashed to life. Though the appeared tiny from Heero's position, he knew that, up close, they were huge maelstroms of energy, and had to be tens of meters across. They grew, and merged, pairs becoming trios, becoming quartets, until finally, they fired.

"Move!" shouted Heero.

Eight separate beams of energy, each one more than twice as thick as Zero's beam cannon shot, blasted from the ship towards the Gundams. Heero slammed the thrusters fully open, the acceleration pushing him back in his seat as he fought to reach the others, but there was no time.

The beams, travelling at the speed of light, hit as soon as they were fired. Three of the Gundams managed to dodge their fury, moving before the ship fired and dodging the beams by scant meters. Two were not fast enough.

Trowa's Heavyarms was almost clear, when a beam lanced below him, hitting Heavyarms' left leg and completely vapourising the limb. The Gundam tumbled away from the beam as the power cells in its upper thigh detonated, pushing the Gundam into a spin.

Sandrock, Quatre's black Gundam, was hit dead-on by one of the beams. The column of thundering energy engulfed the Gundam completely, powering onwards a hundred meters to Heero's left. When it passed, there was no trace of Sandrock.

Heero finally reached the others, just as Trowa mastered Heavyarms' spin, and flew straight past them. "Get moving. Quatre may be dead, but you can mourn him _after_ we kill this ship," he said, struggling to follow his own orders.

Quatre had been the last person any of the Gundam Pilots had expected to die. They had all assumed that it would be someone like Heero, or Wufei, to die first. Not Quatre. He was the kindest of the five, the most devoted to peace.

And now he was gone. Annihilated.

Heero gritted his teeth. He would make that ship pay. If he had to cut his way through decks themselves, he would make it pay. In killing Quatre, the captain had just signed his death warrant.

Wing Zero reached the ship in less than ten seconds, and Heero fired the retros on full, killing its speed enough to let it pass through the shields. The other Gundams followed suit, forming up around Zero in the shelter of the ship's prow. Duo, in Deathscythe, did not stop, but flew upwards, towards the massive golden eagle that topped the prow, a howl of anger coming through the radio.

His scythe sliced through its neck, and the hundred meter chunk of gold tumbled away from the rest of the prow, cut cleanly by the blade of the beam scythe. Deathscythe hung there, arm still extended from his attack. Heero could hear heavy breathing through the radio.

"Duo," said Wufei, "Quatre is gone. We have to put that out of our minds if we are going to succeed here."

"If you're going to do anything, then kill this ship and avenge him," said Trowa.

Duo was silent for a moment, and then his anguished voice came over the radio. "You're… you're right. The only thing that matters right now is killing this damned ship."

* * *

"Damage report!" snapped Vaelor.

Wochal consulted his screens. "Cosmetic only, Captain."

"Cosmetic?"

"Yes sir. They decapitated the Aquila on the prow."

Vaelor's teeth ground together, and he felt his anger rise at this new evidence of their heresy. "Get every weapon we have targeted on them. I want them wiped from existence."

Wochal glanced down. "There's a problem, sir."

"What?" barked Vaelor, glaring balefully at the lieutenant.

"Our weapons can't fire at them, sir. They're too close in to us, our prow obscures them."

"Lieutenant?" Vaelor said, his voice deadly-cold.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"How fast is this ship capable of travelling?"

"Five-eighty thousand k's per Imperial minute, sir, at max thrust."

"And how fast do you suppose craft that small are capable of travelling?"

"I really don't-" Wochal broke off as he realised what the Captain meant. "Right, sir. Banking engine power now. Thrust at twenty seconds."

"Better, Lieutenant, but not good enough. After this engagement, report to the excruciators for penitentiary scourging." He waited for Wochal's reluctant nod and salute, and then raised his voice to shout over the crew pit. "Helm, turn to port ten seconds after manoeuvre begins. All port side weapon batteries, target on the enemies as soon as they come into view."

* * *

"Energy spike!" shouted Wufei. "From their engines!"

"Move!" ordered Heero, and blasted Wing Zero backwards, to the left side of the ship. Trowa and Wufei went right, while Duo went over the top of the ship. Almost as soon as the Gundams were clear, the ship's engines lit up like supernovas, and it jumped forwards at an incredible speed. It passed Heero within a second, and the snap-shot he let off from the beam cannon was far too late – hitting the ship's rear shields without doing damage.

One of the ship's tall spires caught Deathscythe a glancing blow, and sent the black Gundam tumbling limply away, its right arm completely shorn away by the impact, and a ragged gash ripped in its waist. Its beam scythe fell away from the Gundam, but Duo managed to snatch it with Deathscythe's remaining arm. Under the pilot's careful command, Deathscythe's thrusters and manoeuvring jets brought it under control.

The others began to move towards Duo, to offer what help they could. "Scatter and evade!" snapped Heero, knowing full-well what the ship's next move would be as soon as he saw it begin to bank, bringing its broadsides to bear against the Gundams.

As the ship began to gradually reduce its speed, it opened fire. Projectiles fired in blasts of flame, lasers flashed from powerful emplacements, and plasma batteries shot the destructive power of a star towards the four Gundams.

His order had only just been in time. The other three barely avoided the initial barrage of shots, jets flaring as they executed short, sharp direction changes to throw off the enemy's targeting. Wing Zero's inertial compensators struggled to cope with the g-forces generated by Heero's unpredictable movements, and he was thrown around his chair with every manoeuvre.

"Heero!" called Trowa. "Zero's beam cannon is the only thing powerful enough to even stand a chance of hurting that monster! We'll distract it, you get inside its shields!"

Heero didn't reply, instead maximising power to the thrusters and heading to the right of the ship. The other three Gundams began firing, doing no harm, but commanding the warship's attention. Heero just hoped that he could stop it before it killed them.

The ship's outline revolved beneath him as he moved, coming up above it and out of its line of fire, he hoped. He kept his movements erratic, throwing off the few batteries that targeted him, and soon he was above their sights and in the clear.

The others were not, though. The ship was subjecting them to a punishing barrage of fire, shots pounding out relentlessly, one after another after another. The Gundams pushed themselves to the limits of their abilities just to avoid behind obliterated in the fusilade, dodging in every direction, then remaining still when the ship tried to compensate for their movement, before breaking off in a new direction, weapons still blazing uselessly.

Heero checked over his systems one last time. Everything was optimal. Weapons charged, thrusters warmed up, heat sinks engaged – he was ready. His hand closed around the thruster lever, and his eyes shut slowly. _Let this work,_ he thought to himself, and slammed the thrusters fully open.

Wing Zero rocketed forwards instantly, the sheer acceleration threatening to crush him within his chair. He could feel the ZERO system sink its claws into his mind as he pushed the Gundam to its furthest limits, squeezing every bit of speed from it that he could.

If the ship noticed him before he was close enough… He refused to allow the possibility any merit in his mind. He _would_ get there in time. Too many lives depended on it for him to fail. His eyes snapped open again, and the rapidly growing ship filled his vision, ten kilometers of blood-red horror, bristling with weaponry and protected by meters of solid armour.

He managed to get within ten kilometers before it detected him as a sufficient threat. The ship began to bring its bow upwards, bringing its prow and dorsal weapons to bear on him, while keeping its broadsides hurling death at the others.

Reaching up, Heero shut down all the unnecessary systems, one by one. Automatic targeting. Energy management. Stabilisation. Movement actuators for the lower half of the Gundam. And finally, the ZERO system itself. As he felt it slip from his mind, he shunted all the excess power into thrusters and weapons, charging the beam cannon fully, and smashing Zero forwards on a massive blast of blue-white flame.

He covered the ten kilometers before the ship managed to target him, and dropped down close to its hull as weapon emplacements began to pump their deadly payload out at him, killing his speed momentarily to bypass the shields, and then slamming the thrusters back open again. Working manually, he jumped Zero around as best he could, flicking individual jets on and off, trying to make his course as difficult to track as he could. Columns of blinding light lanced on every side of him, thundering projectiles passing within meters, but somehow, miraculously, his erratic flying carried him onwards unharmed.

Until a spear of crackling plasma punched upwards from below and atomised Zero's head. The Gundam flipped backwards on the impact, the unexpected movement the only thing that saved it from being destroyed by three intersecting laser beams. As the lasers flared in front of him, Heero struggled to gain control over his errant Gundam.

All his visual sensors were dead, wiped out by that shot. All his detail calibrators and targeting routines has been based in the head. He was effectively blind. No! thinking frantically, he flicked a handful of switches. Zero's heat and energy sensors were located in its core. If he could reroute them to feed directly into his monitors, instead of through the head, then-

The screens flickered to life, bathing him in a harsh red light as they painted a digital portrait of the enemy ship from its energy signatures. Its weapon discharges lit up the screens with dazzling, flickering flares of white light, and he brought Zero down into a roll, thankful that he still had all his thrusters left undamaged. The stricken Gundam roared down in close to the ship, scant meters away from its surface, close enough to avoid most of the weapon fire, apart from point-blank shots from directly beneath him.

He brought up a detailed scan of the ship, looking for anywhere that might be a power generator, or any other vital system. There were two hot-spots, one deep within the ship, back near the engines, and one on the top surface, in the tall, skyscraper-sized tower that he presumed was the bridge. His lips twisted into a tight smile. One two.

* * *

"Status of that enemy craft?" demanded Vaelor.

"Damaged, but not destroyed, Captain," said Wochal. "It is currently in too close to our hull for our guns to be brought to bear."

"And the others?"

"Still dancing out to port, sir. They're just too nimble for us to target them – our shots are mostly guesswork and estimations. One or two glances, but nothing significant. It's like they can react as soon as we fire, sir."

Vaelor slammed his fist down into the railing surrounding the command pulpit. Wochal jumped nervously, and a menial scurried from the bridge, screeching. "Dammit, I don't care if they react _before_ we shoot, just kill them! Bring everything we've got to bear on them, divert power from the engines if you have to!"

"Captain Romana!" shouted one of his officers, indistinguishable in the chaotic mass of the crew pit. "Hull damage, port-side, directly above the plasma generators!"

Vaelor swore. Loudly. "What _from_?" he snapped.

"The other craft, Captain. It's firing on us from _within_ our void shields – there! Another impact, same spot. Two more passes and he'll be into the plasma generators themselves."

How powerful a weapon did that craft possess? To melt through meters upon meters of solid bulkheads and armour would require phenomenal amounts of energy, and nothing he had seen from these craft gave any indication of being that powerful… No, wait. There was that weapon that they had fired before. It had done nothing to the void shields, but maybe, just maybe, it was merely drastically weakened by shields. That would explain its devastating performance against unshielded hull armour.

"He's into the generators, Captain! We're switching to emergency power."

Vaelor nodded. "Shut down starboard weapon systems and divert their energy into the engines. Navigation, pull up projected schematics of the planet. Where's the nearest population center?"

The reply was a moment in coming. "Almost directly below us, sir. The northern half of a large continent. One minute… Data from captured prisoners from the colony stations name it as America. Specifically Northern America."

"Good." Vaelor smiled a grim, predatory smile. "If our plasma generators are destroyed then we have no power to fight on. So we shall deal the greatest blow of this war, before this enemy takes the ability away from us. Set course for that location, maximum burn. When we reach upper atmosphere, charge the Warp Drives and activate. If we are to be defeated, then by the God-Emperor we'll take as many of them as possible with us!"

"Sir!" came one voice, as the others turned to obey his command. He acknowledged it with a nod, just as a massive shuddering blast rocked the ship. Vaelor clung to the railing to stay upright, and he could see the ship slew to port from the viewscreens.

"Plasma generators destroyed sir! Weapons deactivated. All emergency power diverted to engine thrust and Warp Drive charge. The enemy craft is coming up on us."

Vaelor stared at the schematics displayed on the top viewscreen. Sure enough, the tiny blip representing that enemy craft was moving steadily up the _Leviathan_, away from the gaping crater that had once housed their plasma generators.

"Ignore it," he said. "Correct course for that blast."

And then a shape made of blue flame sped towards the viewscreens, magnified large by the ship's Machine Spirit. A vaguely humanoid shape rode at the front of that flame, a smoking ruin where its head should have been and a large, grey weapon raised resolutely towards the ship.

_The enemy craft! _The thought flashed through Vaelor's mind, and then the it fired.

* * *

The blazing shaft of energy pounded into the bridge of the ship, passing through armour as if it wasn't there and coring the heart of the command tower. The blinding light utterly destroyed all it touched, chewing deep into the tower until the bridge was completely gone, a smoking ruin in its place.

Heero looked at the red-white flare on his energy sensors that showed the damage, and smiled. With no one to guide or control it, that ship would carry on with its course forever. Engines flaring and dying, it headed out over the horizon if the Earth, into deep space. Heero neither knew not cared if its crew was recovered.

They had killed Quatre.

He checked his available systems, booting up those he had shut down, and checking what remained. All but the sensors were still functional, and he isolated the head systems to prevent power loss through the damaged circuitry. Comms were down, too.

Maybe his vacuum suit comm could reach? He tried it. Static filled the cockpit, and he almost gave up and turned it off, when a voice, faint and hazy, emerged.

"Heero? Heero, are you there?"

"I'm here, Duo. Let's go. We can't stay here."

This time it was Trowa's voice. "But where are we going to go? They destroyed the _Peacemillion_."

"To Earth."

Part 11 


	11. Descent

Part 11 

"Okay Heero, lock to my transponder," said Wufei as the four Gundams neared the outer edges of the atmosphere.

Heero reached up and locked on to Altron's heat signature. "Got it." With only thermal sensors, Zero would be effectively blind during the intense heat of the drop. The friction of the Gundams' fall would generate enough heat to blind the sensors to everything else. Locking to Altron's transponder would give him a guide.

He just hoped that the jury-rigged seal over Zero's neck would hold. If it didn't, he would be cooked to death in less than a minute. The same applied to Heavyarms and Deathsythe; their damaged limbs could be crippling weak points. Wufei had the only undamaged Gundam, and even he was at risk.

Gundanium was incredibly tough, and was rated for the harshest conditions and some of the strongest weaponry, but the searing temperatures released upon atmospheric re-entry were beyond anything that they had been tested for. None of the pilots knew if the Gundams would make the drop.

They could be going to their deaths, but it was the only way. The enemy had complete control over space. There was no way to acquire re-entry pods, and the _Peacemillion_ had been atomised. They would just have to risk it.

"Entering the upper edges in twenty seconds," Trowa announced.

Heero fired the manoeuvring jets on the back of Zero's legs, bringing the Gundam to an upright position. The others followed suit, all except for Trowa. Heavyarms' damaged leg was too vulnerable to bear the brunt of the atmospheric friction, so Trowa would go down headfirst, pulling up only at the last minute. Risky, but there was no other way to do it.

Altron was the first to enter the upper reaches of the atmosphere, its feet glowing red-hot. Deathscythe was next, slightly left of Altron, and Heavyarms was to the right, its head surrounded by a crimson halo of heat.

Zero shook violently as it followed the other three Gundams, and Heero fought the urge to check the seals again. There was nothing he could do now. They would hold. They had to hold.

The only other time he had entered atmosphere like this, without the protection of a re-entry pod, he had been piloting Wing Gundam, now destroyed. He had been struck by the incredible beauty of Earth, serene and silent. All the troubles that ravaged it had been invisible from so high up and, just that once, it had seemed perfect.

He wished that Zero still had its visual sensors, so that he could stare at that view one last time. But they had been destroyed, and now he had only the cold, unfeeling diagnostic reports, bathing him in their harsh red light.

"…Comm… -ation…-ill runni…"

Heero grimaced. The heat was disrupting the comms, making it almost impossible for his vacuum suit unit to reach the others. It would only get worse as they descended. He didn't know how long he would still have even the shreds of cummunication that he had now.

"Communications are fading," he called, in the hope that one of the others could hear him. "The heat is disrupting them. I'll follow you all the way, Wufei. Bring us in safe."

"-ight… -got i… -llow me." The reply was broken, but understandable.

The Gundams were far enough into the atmosphere now that they were each surrounded by a corona of burning, flickering heat. They shook, jets constantly flickering on and off to maintain their orientation and keep them on a straight course downwards.

The roar was clearly audible inside Zero now, aural accompaniment to the shuddering that rattled the Gundam. Heero gritted his teeth to stop himself biting his tongue, and brought up the diagnostics.

So far, the seal was holding. Outer temperature was somewhere in excess of eight hundred degrees, but for now, the interior temperature remained normal. The beam cannon was still safely shielded against Zero's leg, protected from the brunt of the friction by the Gundam's arm.

"Jet… -ning th… -unition… -explodi…"

That was Trowa's voice. He must be jettisoning the ammunition for his machineguns. There was too much risk of it detonating inside the magazine, and an explosion at this altitude, and at this speed, would inevitably be fatal. He could pick up more ammunition back on Earth.

Heero checked his exterior sensors. They were almost useless now, and would be completely obscured within the next minute, but they held long enough for him to see, faintly, a separate speck of heat separate from Heavyarms, tumbling back behind them. It fell slower, without the mass of the Gundam behind it, and the three Gundams were soon far past it.

It exploded seconds before Zero's sensors went down. The flaring blast lit up the sensor board behind the Gundams, shining white light on Heero's face, and then the same whiteness overtook the entire screen. The exterior temperature was too hot for the sensors now.

Heero reached up and flicked a switch, retracting the sensor modules deeper into Zero's core. They were no use now, and keeping them exposed might even destroy them. He flicked back to internal diagnostics.

A red light blipped and died, signalling the failure of his suit's comms. He was isolated completely now. No exterior sensors, no comms. No reading for Altron's transponder.

Damn. He should have realised that when the heat overcame his sensors, it would cut out his only way of 'seeing' the other Gundams. Now he had to make a blind drop, with only his own estimations to guide him.

The main monitor lit up at his touch. Wing Zero had some of the most powerful computing and analytical software to be found anywhere, not even counting the ZERO system. _That_ particular program stayed dormant. It had no sensors to analyse, and at these speeds, any edge in reaction times it could give him would be irrelevant. If he was too late, he would die.

A hiss issued, almost lost under the shudders, as he transferred control of the thrusters – main and manoeuvring – to the manual controls. He wouldn't have time to reach around flicking switches; he needed control at his fingertips if he was going to survive this.

He brought up an analysis of the drop. Given his initial altitude, and his projected speed, he was around six minutes out, give or take up to two seconds. So he'd need to begin deceleration in four minutes, to give him enough distance to kill his speed enough so he wouldn't just smash into the ground.

He started a timer, blinking down from three minutes thirty seconds. Better to have some breathing space. Better to brake early than late.

He sat, exerting all his control to quiet his thoughts, gripping the control levers tightly. His eyes were locked to the blinking timer display as it counted down the seconds. Beside it was the thermal diagnostic, on a secondary monitor, showing the integrity and temperature of Zero's hull. The temperature scrolled up even as the timer scrolled down.

Two minutes.

He fought to reach the calm sureness that was his shield in battle. Fear, especially at this point, could be fatal. He had undergone fifteen years of conditioning, both physical and mental, to mould him into what he was today. Fear was just an emotion, and emotions were just input into the mind. He could shut them off, ignore them.

One minute.

Sweat slicked his grip on the levers, but he didn't move his hands. There wasn't enough time. His eyes closed, and then opened again. Determination seized him. He would either succeed here, or die. There was no chance to try again now. Do or die.

Thirty seconds.

The diagnostic screen flashed. The seal on Zero's neck was beginning to fail. The shaking intesified, the roar amplified. The temperature inside the cockpit grew steadily.

Ten seconds.

Five seconds.

Zero.

And then Zero was thrown to the side, buffeted by the passage of some massive shape. The displaced air pushed Zero into a spin, and Heero struggled with all his genetically enhanced strength to regain control. The other Gundams had pulled up, in perfect formation with each other, leaving Zero to plummet down ahead.

The control levers resisted his every pull and push, and Zero dropped closer and closer to the surface with every adrenaline-filled second. He wrenched the left lever backwards, and thrust the right forwards, firing off thrusters to counteract Zero's spin. A flare of manoeuvring jets brought the Gundam roughly into a stable position.

He was too close. The four-minute point had been and gone. Gritting his teeth, he dropped all thrusters to point downwards, and fired them all on full. Zero rocked and shook at the sudden force, its Gundanium frame creaking with the stress.

It wasn't going to work. Projections ran across the monitor in front of him, and every one of them had him smashing into the ground at well over four hundred miles per hour. Even Zero couldn't withstand that.

As he clutched the levers, muscles bunching, a last, desperate idea came to him. If it worked, he might just be able to land safely, and if it didn't… well, he was as good as dead anyway.

The buttons mounted on the sides of the levers were hot with sweat beneath his thumbs as he depressed them, switching control to the main thrusters on Zero's back. He slammed them back towards him, and then pistoned them forwards.

Zero tilted dangerously forwards, and then the thrusters fired off. A massive ball of blue flame exploded to life behind the Gundam, and now its descent was forwards, as well as downwards. A touch of another button, and its wings snapped out, angelic pinions that were normally hidden away at its back.

The struts creaked dangerously as the panels slid smoothly out to connect them, Gundanium feathers gleaming in the white heat that assailed Zero. Heero made minor adjustments to the thrusters, and angled Zero directly downwards, risking blowing the neck seal with every second.

He tapped the thrusters again, and brought Zero slowly upwards, getting ever-closer to horizontal. The wings, not designed to actually be used as such, groaned under the immense pressure of the rushing air beneath them.

The display flashed up a proximity warning, blaring loudly in his ears. He had less than a minute to level off, before he crashed into the ground at over eight hundred miler per hour. At that speed, with the entire weight of the Gundam behind it, it wouldn't even be recognisable.

He fought with the levers, applying as much pressure as he dared. Too much, and he risked snapping the wings and the frame under the incredible forces of the descent. Too little, and he wouldn't see the turning of the next minute.

His diagnostic had him as four degrees off level when he hit.

Zero's right arm was the first to feel the impact, snapped back straight against the Gundam's leg by the sharp connection with the ground. Its right leg was next to touch, grinding the arm beneath it. Both limbs nearly disintegrated, and the ground behind Zero was littered by shards and fragments of Gundanium.

Heero had the controls in a deathgrip, fighting to keep Zero under control. He cut the thrusters, and, in a last-ditch attempt to lose speed, dropped Zero's other limbs to the ground, using the friction to slow him down.

When Zero's chest made contact, the impact threw him violently upwards, pounding him into the back of his seat and smashing his head sharply into the steel internal wall behind. Dazed, his grip slackened on the levers for a second.

Zero flipped into a mad roll, what remained of its limbs flailing like the tentacles of some insane monster. Heero braced, knowing he could do nothing now but hope that he somehow managed to live through the next few seconds.

The out of control Gundam carved a deep furrow into the earth, over four hundred meters long, before it ground to a stop on its right side. There was a silent pause, dust settling and sparks dying.

Zero's chest panel shuddered open slowly. It hit the ground, and Heero tumbled out, landing on his hands and knees. Violent coughs and shakes wracked his thin form, and it was another minute before he could bring himself to look weakly upwards at his surroundings.

He was in a suburban area, littered with small houses and wide streets. Streets almost identical to the one he had miraculously landed in. He looked back, surveying the destruction that Zero had wrought with horror. If he had been so much as a few meters to either side, then he could have killed hundreds of people. Innocent people.

Three massive impacts rocked the street. Heero turned his head, and saw the other three Gundams. Heavywarms had lost nearly all of its crimson paint, and was leaning against Deathscythe, unable to stand with only one leg. Deathscythe and Altron, too, had lost most of their paintwork, stark, gunmetal behemoths that dominated the quiet street.

Their cockpits opened, and the pilots slid down on the access ropes. Duo walked stiffly over to Heero, a weary grin on his face. He flipped his long braid over his shoulder.

"Quite the landing there, Heero," he said.

Trowa stepped forwards, putting a hand on Duo's shoulder. "Now is not the time for jokes, Duo. I'm impressed that you managed to keep it together at all, Heero. And you avoided the housing."

Heero got painfully to his knees. He could feel cracked ribs grating in his chest, and his right arm dangled uselessly, broken. "Pure luck," he managed to say, before falling forwards, darkness overcoming him.

Duo rushed forwards and caught him before he hit the street. "Damn," said the American, "Anyone else would've died from that. Look at the damage to Zero."

Wufei motioned to Trowa and Duo. "Come on. The only way we can do anything in this conflict is to ally ourselves with Treize. Duo, can you take Heero? I'll use Altron to take what remains of Zero."

"Got it," said Duo, picking Heero up and draping him over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" said Trowa, his voice quiet as ever. "About Treize. If Relena was still Queen, then we could be sure of the World Nation's motives, but with Treize in charge…"

"Doesn't matter," answered Duo. "We'll find out when we get there."

Wufei sighed. "For now, Duo's right. We can't do anything alone, and Treize and the World Nation have the biggest chance of holding a successful defence of the Earth. Come on."

The pilots mounted their Gundams once more, Duo taking Heero with him into Deathscythe's cockpit. Heavyarms and Deathscythe took flight first, the backwash from their thrusters whipping trees and smashing windows – those that weren't already smahed from Zero's descent.

Wufei watched them go, before setting to gathering the shredded pieces of Zero that littered the street. Altron's claws snapped around the Gundanium shrapnel, one clamping firmly onto the torso, complete with what remained of the limbs and wings. The other claw snagged the smaller pieces, including the lower half of Zero's right leg, and the battered but somehow unharmed beam rifle.

Confident that he had all the pieces that he could get, Wufei activated Altron's thrusters, following Duo and Trowa towards the center of the city.

How had Heero managed a blind landing, from the upper atmosphere, alone? How had he found the strength to use Zero in such a radically untested way? And, more importantly, how had he managed to survive doing it? Duo had been right when he had said that anyone else would have died.

Wufei knew of no one tougher than the wiry seventeen-year-old. He presumed that the training regimen he had undergone like the rest of the pilots had been stricter, harsher. It had to be, to make him into the cold, precise soldier that he was.

Duo had suggested genetic engineering or conditioning. Wufei was beginning to believe him. There wasn't any other way to explain the pilot's incredible resilience and ability.

Altron was travelling at full thrust, and the center of the city loomed into view ahead, cutting off his train of thought. He saw Heavyarms and Deathscythe descend slowly towards the Royal Palace that dominated the inner city, and he followed them, making sure that he had Zero under control.

Skyscrapers flashed by to either side, too fast for him to make out their undoubtedly surprised occupants. The sight of a Gundam flying through an urban area at such a speed was not a common one, and the stigma associated with them, propagated by OZ until its deformation and inclusion into the World Nation, did little to ease the situation.

He reached the palace scant seconds behind Duo and Trowa, Altron landing heavily, wighed down by Zero's remains, while the others supported each other. An army of techs, politicians and guards rushed out to meet them.

"So much for a quiet entrance," quipped Duo over the comms.

"Let's get this over with," said Wufei, and opened Altron's hatch. He roped down to the hard concrete of what he assumed was a private landing strip, and faced the guards. Duo and Trowa descended, and moved in to his left, Duo still carrying Heero's limp body.

"We don't want any trouble," began Trowa.

"Where is Treize Kushrenada?" demanded Wufei. He had no time for petty formalities – they were at war. There was no sense in bickering over pleasantries when the planet itself was at stake.

The crowd parted. A man stepped forwards, attired in a resplendent dark blue uniform, trimmed in gold and decorated with medals. His features were aloof, aristocratic, and he held himself with a supremely self-confident bearing. Treize spoke.

"I am right here, Chang Wufei. Although I do not see all of _you_ here. Where is the other, Quatre Rabera-Winner?"

Duo grimaced. "He's- He's gone. Now are you gonna let us in, or are we gonna have to start blasting our way in?"

Treize nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. "Of course," he said. "Please come in. I would be interested to see what brings you here in such a… damaged… state."

He turned, and led the way into the massive palace. The pilots followed, escorted by a dozen guards. One offered to take Heero, but Duo shook him off. The pilots would take care of their own. None of them trusted Treize, or his lapdogs.

Treize led them down a wide, opulently-decorated corridor, his quick steps giving them little chance to take in the magnificent paintings and tapestries that lined the walls. When they at last reached his office, Duo was breathing heavily, not used to carrying someone long distances – even someone as light as Heero.

Treize swept around to his desk, standing behind it and gesturing to the pilots. "Please," he said genially, "take a seat. Your… injured friend can rest there." He indicated a low sofa against the office's right wall.

They sat, and Treize followed their example. He looked at them. "So. What brings you to come here, of all places? I would have thought you'd avoid me, given our history."

Duo looked up from where he had laid Heero down. "We just fought a ten kilometer long battleship. You don't come close, Treize."

Treize leaned forwards. "You fought one of their ships? When?"

Duo checked his watch. "About… oh, an hour ago," he snapped.

Wufei said, "Treize, all the history in the world doesn't matter in the face of this new adversary. We've seen its power first-hand. We know what it would take to beat it, _if_ it can even be beaten. All our Gundams, except for my Altron, are damaged, almost destroyed in the case of Wing Zero. We can't do _anything_ alone, not at this scale."

"So you want an alliance."

"Yes. We want an alliance. You repair our Gundams, and get Heero some medical care, and we'll kill as many enemies as we can for you. We'll go where you say, do what you tell us. I hate to admit it, but you're the tactician here. If anyone can beat these enemies, it's you."

Treize nodded. "Very well. Your Gundams will have the attention of my best engineers. And Heero will be given all the medical attention he needs."

Trowa stepped forwards. "There is one thing we don't know," he said. "Where is Relena Peacecraft? She abdicated in favour of you, and then no one knows what became of her."

Treize paused, as if unsure what – or how much – to say. "Relena is… unreachable, at the moment," he said. "Her personal shuttle left her mansion yesterday evening, after the conference in which I was appointed to head the World Nation, and no one has heard of it since. The loss of all our space-borne surveillance satellites and monitors does little to help that situation. We presume her dead at the hands of the enemy."

Duo swore under his breath. "And you just let her go?" he demanded.

"By the time we knew what she had done, she was clearing the upper atmosphere. There was nothing we could do."

"Dammit," cursed Duo. "I'm going up there."

"No," said Trowa.

"We can't just _assume_ she's dead up there! We've already lost Quatre! I'm not going to sit back while that fleet slaughters everyone I know!"

"And what if she _is_ dead? Or even if she isn't?" said Trowa. "What could we do? What use would it be?"

"But-" protested Duo.

"There's nothing any of us can do about it," put in Wufei. "Treize, what are your plans for dealing with the enemy?"

Treize sat back, lacing his fingers together. "They are going to make a ground landing soon. Two thirds of the Mobile Suits of the World Nation – all that could be gathered in such a short time – leave for their projected landing zone in six hours. We are going to hit them so hard that they don't have a chance to land anyone else. We'll stop their invasion before it has begun."

Trowa nodded. "But how do you know when they will land?"

"We don't. It's a projection, based on military doctrines and their positions."

Wufei's eyes snapped wide open as he remembered something from the _Peacemillion_'s long-range sensors. The capital ships were arranged around a dozen smaller ones, all closed in together. If that wasn't a landing formation, then he didn't know what was.

"Then you'll have to move your projections forwards," he said. "From what we saw up there, they're beginning the landings right now!"

Treize sat forwards, visibly shaken. "Now? Then-" He grabbed the phone from his desk, and punched in a number. "General? Get everyone you have, and leave immediately. The schedule has just been moved forwards. I'll follow with the rest once they're gathered." He didn't wait for a reply, and slammed the phone down almost immediately.

Wufei stood. "I have the only undamaged Gundam. I'll go with them. How quickly can the others be repaired?"

Treize considered. "From what I saw on the landing strip, they'll be finished before the others get here, if I have all my engineers work on them. I'm not so sure about Wing Zero, though. That looks too damaged. It almost needs completely rebuilding."

Trowa nodded. "Heavyarms and Deathscythe don't need nearly as much work done. Go, Wufei. Duo and I will follow you in with the rest of Treize's army."

Duo stared at Treize. "How many Mobile Suits do you have ready now?"

"Two hundred. A mix of Taurus' and Virgos. There are three hundred and fifty more on the way, with almost five hundred not yet dispatched."

Duo whistled. "Two hundred Mobile Suits. I thought the battle over _Barge_ was big."

"This will be a war unlike any ever fought," said Treize. "This is a war for the survival of our entire planet. Geographical boundaries are meaningless in such a conflict. The forces of an entire world move at my command, and if they aren't enough, then nothing is."


	12. Ground Contact

**Part 12**

The Valkyrie screamed towards the ground, knifing through low-hanging clouds like the prow of a ship parting waves, trailing vapour. Its turbines screamed like banshees, painfully loud even through the dampers that Victor wore.

He kept his grip on the heavy bolter mounted on the open door-mount, the tight straps holding him in place through the aircraft's violent manoeuvres. The weapon's sights linked directly to his visual interface, superimposing targeting information onto his vision; ammunition counts, heat status, the exact point the weapon was aimed at.

Behind him, his squad sat in the seats lining the Valkyrie's transport bay. Their weapons were secured above them, all except for Hylar, whose hellgun was implanted onto the end of his left arm, in place of his lost biological forearm. Since surviving that incident, the previously dour veteran had discovered a sarcastic streak, to the annoyance of the rest of the squad.

The Valkyrie banked, and the pilot's voice buzzed over the voxcaster. "Approaching target. ETA six minutes."

Victor glanced back over his shoulder. "Ready Drex?"

The stocky Skitarii nodded grimly. His one remaining organic hand absentmindedly stroked the ammo feed of his heavy stubber as it dangled down beside him. Victor returned the nod, and turned back to the heavy bolter.

The bond between man and weapon was a mystical thing, something close between the spirit of the weapon and the will of its wielder. Weapons had been known to refuse to function in unsuitable hands, their mechanisms seizing up so that only after hours of appeasement through the rituals of maintenance could they be coaxed into function once more. For others, the match was perfect, seamless, a harmony between warrior and machine that extended far beyond the physical.

Victor let himself slide slowly into awareness of the heavy bolter, not forcing the connection, just letting himself become more and more aware of the weapon. He could feel the sharp angles beneath his hands, trace the intricacies of its manufacture, reading the name engraved into its side: _Irae Mechanicus_. Wrath of the Machine. A fitting name for an instrument of destruction such as this. But there was something more. The Machine Spirit of the heavy bolter was not like that of his hellgun. Instead of the cool, focused hate he was used to, the heavy weapon rumbled with almost feral rage, eager to unleash death upon the enemy from its waiting muzzle. As he turned the weapon's consciousness over in his mind, getting to know it, and letting it know him, he thought he could even hear its thoughts, reverberating through his mechanical augmentations like speech.

_-FireWrathDestructionRuinCastDownTheHereticInHisName-_

He blinked, the crimson orb of his left optic augment aping the motion, snapping shut, then open once more. He took one hand off the grip of the heavy bolter, and the connection eased. The pilot called back through the intercom as he pulled his deep red greatcoat around him.

"Entering combat range. Weapons free. Touchdown in thirty seconds."

Victor took the heavy bolter in both hands again. He glanced back at his squad. "Containment alpha on landing. Dig in, secure the zone, and then follow the Praetorians in when they land."

He didn't wait for their acknowledgments, and turned back to the open hatch. The activation rune emitted a sharp _click_ as he depressed it, arming the weapon. It brought a targeting reticule up through his optic, ammo counts and heat levels scrolling down his peripheral vision. It whirred slightly in anticipation, spooling ammunition into its chamber from the belt coiled at his feet.

Targets. They had broken through the clouds, and he had a clear view of their drop zone. It was a small town, maybe a few hundred low buildings, all made of the same stone that jutted out from the desert around them. Tiny dots meandered between them, oblivious to the Valkyrie, or the dozen others following behind it.

Victor smiled harshly, and magnified the image with a thought. The tiny dots ballooned into people, dark skinned and wearing loose-fitting white robes, presumably to protect them from the desert heat. Near the centre of the town, where his landing zone was, there was what looked to be a square, with a tall statue in the centre. He couldn't recognise the statue.

His lips twisted in a grimace. Statues to false idols. Whether they were these people's perversions of gods or not, this was heresy, and there was only one punishment for heresy. Death.

He dropped the targeting reticule down over a group of a dozen people, watched as they heard the faint buzzing of the Valkyrie's engines and started to look up in puzzlement. Then he pulled the trigger.

The weapon bucked in his hands, and he gave it its head. Explosive bolts thudded down into the square, each one aimed unerringly towards his target. They ripped the group of people to shreds, blasting off limbs and pulverising torsos. Mangled bodies flew like discarded toys, and he tracked the weapon sideways and into a trail of fleeing people.

Their fate was the same as his first targets, smashed into shreds by the power of the weapon. He was too far above to hear their cries, distance rendering the destruction into something less, a game, impersonal. Shrieking children were transformed into scuttling targets for him to hit. Wailing parents became whirling groups of kills.

The heat readout climbed into the redzone, and he released the trigger reluctantly. The pilot banked the Valkyrie down into a harsh descent, bringing them closer in once it became clear that no anti-air fire was about to rise to meet them.

"Kills, Lieutenant?" asked Garek. His voice was edged with competitiveness, one of his less serious biological flaws. Battlegrounds were nothing more than places to rack up numbers to Garek, opportunities to establish himself as the best, most skilled, through body count alone.

"More than you, Garek," Victor replied lightly. "I think… oh, thirty or forty?"

The seat creaked faintly as Garek leaned back. "That's why you're the Lieutenant. Be a different story if you didn't have that gun."

"Yes it would. Which is why I _do_ have the gun, Garek." His eyes flicked over the heat readout. Almost back in the green. The weapon's Machine Spirit was beginning to rear up again, and he felt his own emotions respond to it. A savage anticipation rose in him, the human part of him eager for victims, while the mechanical augments asserted their cool logic upon his actions.

The Valkyrie stabilised again, arcing round in a broad circle around the square. "One more run, Lieutenant," called the pilot. "Then I'm bringing us down for landing. The other Valkyries are beginning their initial runs now."

Victor glanced upwards out of the hatch. Sure enough, the other eleven gunships had entered weapon range. They dove like birds of prey, banking into wide arcs, their flanks spitting high-calibre explosive death down around their landing points. Screams echoed faintly, the collective terror of hundreds, maybe thousands of people overcoming the distance.

He sighted on a group of three people cowering in an arched doorway to the east of the square, and pulled the trigger. They died instantly, and he swept the heavy bolter to the right on its pintle mount, moving with the Valkyrie to track a pair of fleeing shapes. He toyed with them briefly, keeping the bolts mere metres behind them. He let them get to the statue, and then jerked the weapon around. The bolts mowed them down, churning them into unrecognisable chunks of meat.

He tracked it upwards, stitching the statue with craters. Stone blasted from the back as the bolts punched gaping holes through the statue. An upraised arm was shattered at the elbow, and then at the shoulder, falling into countless scything fragments. Its chest shuddered under the impacts, and then finally gave in, exploding backwards. A bolt struck the falling statue cleanly in its carefully-carved face, ripping it from the statue's shoulders and shattering it beyond recognition.

The statue hit the ground, and he kept up the fire, raking it across the building behind. Masonry flew and smoke rose in billowing clouds under the torrent of fire. Blood sprayed in places as his fire found people huddling behind what they had thought would shield them.

The Valkyrie tightened its curve, and he used it to bring the heavy bolter around, strafing the buildings and streets that lead into the square. A group of stragglers were caught in the open down a wide street, and torn to shreds. Shutters splintered under fire, and screams floated up from them.

The heat readout redlined, and he whispered a prayer of apology to the heavy bolter, and released the trigger. He followed it with one of thanks as the pilot pulled the Valkyrie down into the centre of the square, settling it down on its VTOL thrusters.

A wash of smoke and debris billowed out from the gunship, and the seat restraints all snapped off at once. His squad leapt from the Valkyrie almost as one, their linkages allowing each to see sensor data from the others. They spread into a wide circle around the Valkyrie, getting into cover behind smashed stonework and chunks of statue.

Victor released his hold on the heavy bolter, letting the fingers of his mechanical right hand trail across the warm metal. He grabbed his hellgun from its rack, and leapt out to join his squad.

He scanned the square. There was nothing left alive in sight. "Junt," he said, "anything on the auspex?"

Junt looked up from the small device. "Already there, lieutenant." He swept the auspex around full circle, staring at its display. He raised his head. "Nothing in the immediate area. A whole bunch of large groups at extreme range, but extreme range for this thing is about two hundred metres."

Victor nodded. "Right." He glanced around the square. "There's not much in the way of cover around here, and pretty much nothing that has all avenues covered, but our best bet is that one the statue used to be facing." He indicated the large building with his free hand. "Judging by the columns out front, and the amount of decoration all over it, it's got to be a government building of some kind. Six of us are going in there, two to a window; one in the centre and one on each side."

"The other four, sir?" asked Hylar.

"You and Rox get inside the building to the left, the one without as many bolt craters in it. Kraff and Drex, you do the same, but on the other side. Top floor for you two, so take the tallest. I want everyone's fire lanes clear of friendlies."

"Sir." The nine Skitarii saluted, and moved out. Victor followed after, heading towards the centre of the government building. The Valkyrie lifted off on the deafening whine of its thrusters, angling its nose up at a sharp angle that would have been impossible with any passengers still inside. It clicked its main engines on, and accelerated sharply upwards on a scalding hot backwash.

They'd landed safely, a task made infinitely easier by the complete lack of any defences or military organisation from the town, and now all they had to do was hold the square for the heavier troop transports to get down and unload the Praetorians and other heavies. Tanks would come in later, once the initial resistance had been cleared, and a more detailed ground map could be drawn up, since it was a lot easier to outflank a Leman Russ than an infantry platoon, and a lot more deadly. Sending tanks into unknown streets was tantamount to suicide.

The building was dark inside, except for narrow shafts of light that lanced through impact craters and the occasional open window-shutter. A handful of bodies were clustered near the doors. Victor stepped over them, and gestured to Garek. "You're with me, in the centre." The other four split off in opposite directions, heading up stairs to the first floor.

Victor scanned the entryway. He had originally said windows, but the solid stone doorframe, and what looked like real wood doors that were shod with shining, albeit bloodstained, steel.

Opposite the door was a large desk, and mounted on the wall behind that was a huge metal map. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like real, naturally-occurring silver, and inlaid with real gold. He walked over to it, and ran one mechanical finger over it, testing it with the microsensors built into his fingertip. Real silver, real gold, but around a solid iron core. It was going to be heavy, but…

"Help me get this," he said to Garek. He came up beside Victor, on the far side of the map-plaque, and the two Skitarii managed to drag it from the wall. Garek blew out a long breath, and Victor heard him mutter a curse on his weak biological limbs.

"In front of the door?" Garek asked.

"Yeah. Then the desk behind it. If we still have time, we'll rip out a few floor tiles and board the windows up with them. They look big enough."

Once it was down on the ground, the map-plaque proved easier to move, and the two Skitarii, with the aid of their augmetics, were able to shift it into position without trouble. The desk was lighter than it looked, and if it wasn't for the metal sheeting across it, Victor wouldn't have considered it. As it was, it might give a few extra layers of protection. He'd known las rounds burn straight through carapace armour and then be stopped by a shirt on the other side. Granted, in that kind of situation, the shirt mostly just lessened a mild burn, but still…

A crackling sounded in his ears, and he activated the comm with a thought. "Lieutenant?" came Junt's voice, "enemy contact approaching from the north. And fast. It's only just registered, and it's nearly here already."

"Acknowledged," he replied. He switched the comm to the squad channel. "Incoming hostile. Get down, and wait for it to show itself. As soon as it hits the centre of the square, hit it with everything. It's coming in fast, and that means it's probably aerial. Junt, get on the comm, and see if you can get the Valkyrie back for a pass. Everyone else, stay covered, stay ready."


	13. Mobilisation

Part 13

Whatever it was, it was fast. Junt put its ETA at around twenty three seconds. Not good.

"Junt," voxed Victor, "You got that Valkyrie back?"

"On its way sir."

"Good." He checked the entrances to the square. Nothing yet. "Contact Tactical Control. Give them a full sitrep."

"Sir."

He turned to Garek. The bulky Skitarii was crouched beside him, his hellgun braced on the makeshift barricade. "Ready?"

"There's only one, sir," Garek replied. "And it's mine." He cocked his hellgun's power setting up to maximal.

Then the building opposite disintegrated.

The top two floors exploded outwards in a storm of dust and stone, and something massive blasted from the debris. It stopped almost on the spot, thrusters fading as it came to rest on its feet. Its armour was the colour of sandstone. It was humanoid, standing well over ten meters tall, and carried a huge rifle in its hands.

Victor activated the vox. _It's not a Titan it's not a Titan it's not a Titan-_

"Fire."

Garek was the first to get a shot off, his hellgun flashing as it discharged. The shot _cracked_ off the enemy's thigh armour, doing little visible damage, and then the others opened up. Eight other flashes fired, and eight other tiny _cracks_ did nothing.

The enemy craft reacted with frightening speed, bracing itself and firing into the building to its left. Victor winced as its rifle spat a bolt of glowing energy into the building's center, vaporising stone and sending it tumbling to the ground in a heap of shattered masonry. Hylar and Rox were gone; either buried or incinerated.

Drex's heavy stubber finally found itself, and tracers snapped out from his top-floor vantage point. The shots – solid slugs rather than the auto-reactive explosive bolts of the heavy bolter – were heavy enough to penetrate light vehicle armour, and they didn't disappoint. The machine staggered as the slugs pierced its shoulder armour and tracked up with a tearing groan into the side of its head.

The thrusters on its back flared up, and it boosted sideways, crashing heavily into Kraff and Xeth's building. It smashed through the walls, tearing the building down through sheer momentum, and taking it out of Drex's line of fire

"Junt!" shouted Victor through the vox, "Get that damn Valkyrie back here now!"

"Working on it!" replied the Skitarii. "ETA thirteen seconds!"

The enemy machine burst from the rubble with a deafening crash, firing as it rose. The shots pulverised the far side of the government building, punching blocks of stone into the alley beside it. Victor hoped Vann and Loxx had gotten out of the way.

"Fire!" he shouted, and followed his own command. He aimed up at its face, hoping its sensory feeds would be more vulnerable than the armour. He switched the hellgun up to auto fire, and watched as the stream of shots put a spiderweb of cracks in the large, square view-screen in the centre of ifs head. Beside him, Garek fired slower, his hellgun set to the highest power, but the slowest fire rate. He placed his shots like a trained sniper, putting one in every opening he could find.

Drex opened up again from the top floor, his heavy stubber thudding slugs into its chest. The dust-brown armour buckled, perforated under the fire, and the enemy staggered back. Its head swayed out of Victor's line of fire, and he released the trigger. Wasting ammunition was punishable by death.

It righted itself, crouched low, its footfalls shaking the ground, and swung its gun up towards Drex's spot. The barrel glowed for a second, and then fired.

The shot went wide, blasting a crater out of the street beside the building. The shots to its head must have damaged its sensors. It corrected its aim, staying steady despite Drex's fire tearing into it.

And then a screaming shape dove from the sky, its flank spitting death down towards the enemy. The Valkyrie banked hard, keeping its heavy bolter mount facing towards the enemy walker. Explosive bolts stitched a ragged pattern across its shoulders and chest, blasting the armour open where they hit.

It fell to one knee under the onslaught, weapon trying in vain to track the circling Valkyrie gunship. A succession of bolt hits ripped its right leg off at the knee, perhaps a dozen of the deadly munitions striking the joint in the space of a second, and its rifle clattered to the ground as one arm snapped down to hold itself upright.

The Valkyrie straightened, its path carrying it away from the stricken enemy. Victor watched as it tried to rise, and then the screaming of the Valkyrie returned. The gunship was on an attack run this time, its nose pointed directly towards the enemy machine. The lascannon mounted there flashed an eye-hurting white, and the enemy's head was ripped apart with a loud, snapping scream.

The walker crumpled, and the Valkyrie circled twice. Victor raised his hellgun out of the doorway in salute, and the gunship departed. He keyed his comm. "Junt?"

"Sir?" answered the Skitarius.

"Get in contact with command. Let them know we've encountered enemy resistance, and that they're using perversions of the Titans' holy technology. Convey my recommendation that the Titans land as soon as possible – this looks to have been just a garrison force, but we have no way of knowing how quickly other units can be brought in. We can hold them off, maybe even drive off a concerted attack with the help of the praetorians servitors, but we really need an edge over them. Something to make them think twice before trying anything."

"Got that sir. Deus Mechanicus."

_Deus Mechanicus indeed_, thought Victor. He knew that they had only driven off the enemy because the Valkyrie had arrived in time. Without it, that thing that looked sickeningly like a Titan would have killed the entire squad, damage or no.

He was just lucky it didn't have shields. If it did, they wouldn't have even been able to do what little damage they had done, and the Valkyrie would probably have arrived to find a crater. Techno-heretics. They could never approach the true greatness of the machine.

"Lieutenant?" called Junt.

"Go ahead," Victor answered.

"I've sent your recommendation. Praetorians should be here in the next minute or two – estimates put them at fifty-eight seconds out, but that's without manoeuvring and landing times."

"And the Titans?"

Victor could practically hear Junt's smile in his voice. "As soon as they can be loaded and dropped."

* * *

"Nearing the enemy. Drop in two hundred."

Wufei closed his eyes, smiling grimly to himself. Two hundred seconds, and Altron would be free of this carrier. A few more short minutes after, and he would be face to face with the enemy.

They had killed Quatre. His smile turned into a grimace. They had killed Quatre; killed Noin; killed Howard; killed everyone who hadn't deserved death. And today, he would make them pay.

Again.

He opened his eyes and pressed the switch to activate Altron. The cockpit lights lit up, and his visual sensor panels blinked on, showing him the interior of the carrier plane. Around him, five other Mobile Suits were strapped down ready for the drop. They were Virgo II's, developed from the Gundams themselves, the best that Treize had. They were still inferior, though. Weak. Maybe too weak.

He tried to block away the apprehension. He was at the head of the most powerful Mobile Suit force ever assembled, and the enemy would be disorganised, directionless in the wake of their landings. It was impossible to make a fully ordered and coordinated ground landing of that magnitude. It had to be. There were too many opportunities for individual weakness to get in the way.

"Twenty seconds until drop."

He reached up and flicked a series of switches. Altron's internal and external sensors came online, giving him detailed analysis of both Altron's running capacity and the environment outside. His fingers danced across the array of keys in front of him, and Altron's generator came online.

"Five."

He unclipped the beam glaive from its holder on Altron's thigh, readying it.

"Four."

The thrusters whined as they charged to capacity.

"Three."

The claw on Altron's empty right hand snapped closed and open again.

"Two."

He made final adjustments to the thrusters' alignment.

"One."

His hands slid over the control levers, gripping them with the calm that always came over him before a battle.

"Drop."

* * *

"Princeps Xanax to the main hold. Repeat, Princeps Xanax to the main hold."

Silas looked up at the voxcaster, frowning. Why would he be needed so urgently? Then he remembered the girl, and set off for the hold at a quick jog. If she was discovered, there would be little future for Princeps Xanax. The very best he could hope for in that case would be to be mind-scrubbed and made into a servitor. The worst would be months, even years, of torture, followed by a very slow, very agonising death. The Adeptus Mechanicus did not look lightly on those who allowed heretics into their midst.

He pushed past menials and servitors, eliciting a few short-lived complaints. Once they saw his rank insignia they quietened down. Insulting a superior, especially one so far up the command chain, carried the penalty of death. There was nothing more precious in a battlefleet as order, and it would be maintained through the blood of the crew if needed.

When he reached the hold, it looked as if someone had flooded it with people. Red covered the entire hold; red robes, red uniforms, red containers, red everywhere. The cogwheel icon was in a hundred different places, in a hundred different sizes. Here and there, the Imperial Aquila could be glimpsed.

He shoved through the menials thronging around _Mors Mortis_' feet, and hurried inside. The only thing he could think about was the girl. Had she been discovered? Was he, even now, going to his own death? Or was she still hidden?

The command chamber was empty. His Moderatii had not arrived yet. He strode over to the compartment he had hidden the girl in, and ripped it open.

She was still in there. Looking dishevelled and annoyed, but still in there.

He pulled her out. "What-" she began.

He cut her off. "Silence. You will not speak, is that clear?" He flung an arm out at the rear corner of the chamber. "You will stand in that corner doing your best to look like you have every right to be there, and you will not, under any circumstances, utter a single word that would lead anyone to believe the contrary. _Is that clear_?"

She glared back at him, jaw set.

"Too smart for your own good," he muttered. "And keep that robe on, and the hood up," said, louder this time. "That damn dress you're wearing doesn't help anything."

He shoved her into the corner just as the door slid open. His Moderatii Primus, Uriel Prandis, walked in. He glanced at the girl, took a pace towards his station, then stopped. He looked at Silas.

"Who is she?" His voice was flat, blank, the same as his face. Not a good sign.

Silas schooled his features to calmness. "An observer," he said. Not necessarily a lie; the girl would be observing.

Uriel's blank look broke into a frown. "Are you saying we aren't trusted? That the Archmagos Veneratus needs to send someone to keep an eye on us?"

"Not exactly. I can't explain more, Uriel."

Uriel grunted, and went to his station. Silas fought to hold in a sigh of relief. The strict hierarchy of the fleet, and the secrecy that went with it, worked to his advantage more times than not.

He dropped into his chair, acutely conscious of the girl behind him. He just hoped she wouldn't jeopardise the mission. The comm clicked as he activated it. "This is Princeps Xanax. What is it?"

The reply was a few seconds in coming. They had probably expected him to take longer to arrive. "Drop schedule has been moved forwards due to unforeseen ground encounters. Prepare for drop as soon as the _Honourblade_ arrives in position."

Unforseen ground encounters? What kind of enemy was down there that could necessitate the immediate deployment of the Titans? "When will we be in position?" he asked.

"Five hundred and forty standard seconds."


	14. Battle is Joined

Part 14

The Praetorians did not land in the precise, Valkyrie-borne strikes of the Skitarii advance. They were crude weapons, a sledgehammer rather than a scalpel, and their deployment suited that fact. Four huge bulk landers descended through the wispy clouds, haloed by the flames of their atmospheric entry. Each was nearly eight hundred metres long, packed full of Praetorians and tanks.

The rumbling roar of their approach filled the air, a sound that only stopped when they met the ground outside the pacified town with a dull thud. Their flanks dropped open, and a flood of burnished metal strode out and into position.

The Praetorians were not soldiers, not in the traditional sense. They had started out as humans, most of them, purpose-grown in the Mechanicus' gene-vats. They had been extensively augmented, their skin replaced with thick plates of armour, and their muscles boosted with bonded bundles of servo-fibres and actuators, giving each one the strength of an Astartes and the durability of a light tank. Some had their legs replaced with tracked propulsion units, while others were triple-legged or spiderlike, heavy, bladed legs grinding into the ground.

They were equipped with a variety of weapon implants, ranging from huge, axe-like blades up to advanced plasma cannons, grafted on to the Praetorians in the place of limbs. They had been mind-scrubbed, rendering them incapable of independent thought, slaved to the control of the Techpriests in orbit. They were used when tactics and initiative were not needed, where brute force was all that mattered; manning trenchworks, boarding actions, spearheading ground assaults.

Within minutes of disembarking, they had flooded into the town. They infested the buildings, using their weaponry to systematically demolish and reposition stonework into more defensible positions.

Behind them came the tanks of the 83rd Karvandon Armoured Company. Nearly a hundred vehicles rumbled from the bulk landers, their tracks churning the earth beneath them. Basilisks took up positions in the centre of the town, where their long-range artillery could strike in any direction. Hellhounds waited at the entrances to the town, their inferno cannons ready to incinerate any enemy troops that dared enter. Leman Russes of all patterns moved in to support the Praetorians, covering streets and buildings with their weaponry.

Victor let a smile touch his lips. There wasn't a square foot of the town that wasn't covered by at least half a dozen weapons.

Then the first lander exploded.

* * *

"Target destroyed."

Wufei smiled grimly. The enemy craft, as huge as they were, had little armour, and the Mobile Suits' guns had made short work of the first. They had travelled the last three kilometres under their own power, mere metres from the ground in order to avoid detection. 

"Good," he said. "Tauruses, move up on the one to the east. Everyone else, with me. The quickest way to kill an enemy is to take out the head!"

He shoved the thruster lever forwards, and Altron blasted ahead of the Virgos and Tauruses that made up 'his' force. The town that the enemy had occupied was close enough now that he could see the destruction in more detail than he wanted to. Gritting his teeth, he promised himself that he would make the enemy pay for each and every life they had ended there. How could they be so dishonourable as to slaughter defenceless civilians?

"Lead," called the man Wufei had appointed his second in command, an OZ Lieutenant named Delorn. "I'm reading multiple enemy positions ahead. Vehicles and infantry."

"Got it," Wufei cut him off. It didn't matter how many there were. Battle was about to be joined. He switched his radio over to the group channel. "Down to the ground," he ordered. "We'll move in on foot, give ourselves greater accuracy."

He didn't take his own orders, but kept Altron in the air. He had no ranged weaponry to speak of, so there was no sense in limiting his manoeuvrability by travelling on foot. Once he was in the thick of it, maybe, but not on the approach.

So when the artillery fire began to scream out from the town, he was able to easily dodge the shells. The others, however, were not so fortunate. Caught in the middle of setting down, the barrage caught them unprepared. From his sensors, Wufei thought that at least a dozen Mobile Suits were destroyed in that first bombardment.

"Move!" he shouted, his anger pouring through his voice. "Scatter, everyone!"

The Mobile Suits belatedly followed his order, pushing themselves into action. The hail of artillery proved to be untargeted, and most of the shots missed, save for a few unlucky Mobile Suits caught out by the shells.

Altron blasted over the small outer wall of the town in a cloud of dust and stone fragments, and was immediately engulfed in flame. Wufei cursed loudly, checking his sensors to see what was attacking him. A pair of tanks were stationed beneath the wall, their turrets spewing fire at him.

He rounded on them. "Fire?" he said angrily. "Well, I'll fight fire, with _fire_!" Altron's twin claws whipped out from its body and punched deep into the tanks' hulls with a _crunch_. Seconds later, the flamethrowers mounted on each claw fired, immolating whatever crew was inside the tanks, and setting off the large fuel canisters on their hulls. The tanks detonated with an explosion that shook Altron, and Wufei laughed harshly as he threw them to either side.

Tanks? How did they expect tanks to defend against Mobile Suits?

* * *

"Commander, enemy contact approaching fast!"

Tank Commander Zeriel Holdar turned a vicious look on his crew. "Are the weapons ready?"

"Yes sir," replied his loader.

"Enemy contact is within six hundred metres!"

Zeriel checked the vid-feed from outside. The dozen Praetorians around the tank were moving forwards, weapons raised in the direction of the approaching enemy. "ETA?"

"Less than three- frak that, it's here now!"

Zeriel bared his teeth. "Bring the demolisher cannon to bear on the target, ready the sponsons. Comms, get the Praetorians to move forwards; give us a screen."

The enemy blasted over the top of the buildings on powerful thrusters, roaring to a halt scant metres from the _Bastion Imperialis_. It was reminiscent of a Titan, only slighter and smaller, armoured with extravagantly-worked blue plates.

"All guns, fire!"

The demolisher cannon barked loudly, the recoil pushing the tank back on its suspension. The shell, designed to smash through rockcrete fortifications and breach walls, thundered out towards the enemy with a tearing _thump_.

The craft moved faster than Zeriel would have though possible, blasting directly downwards underneath the shell's path. It's feet came down atop two Praetorians, crushing them to the ground. The demolisher shell hit the building behind the enemy, detonating on impact in a furious firestorm that blew out the top three floors in a storm of flying stonework.

"Frak," cursed Zeriel. "Sponsons, target! Seth, get that cannon reloaded!"

The enemy craft flung one of its arms out, and the limb extended out to smash into a tracked Praetorian, metre-high claws tearing through the battle servitor like it wasn't even there. It repeated the move with its other arm, and another Praetorian died.

It was then, with the enemy craft static between the two dying Praetorians, that the _Bastion Imperialis'_ sponsons opened up. The multimeltas were microwave weapons, each one capable of burning through a tank's hull in an instant, and their _hisss_ bathed the Praetorians in white-red light. They struck the enemy in the left leg, both shots focussing together, and there came an almighty _crack!_ as the armour there superheated.

Vapour clouds exploded from the enemy's shin, and it fell to the ground, unbalanced. When the clouds cleared, the leg below the shin had been melted nearly off. The foot was a mangled mess, shreds of armour dripping from the bubbling remains of the shin.

"Bring the demolisher cannon back around!" ordered Zeriel, a vicious snarl on his face. "Finish it off!"

Its thrusters flared back to life before the turret could traverse towards it, though, and the craft boosted up from the ground in a whirlwind of metal, stone and fire. The Praetorians opened fire with their weapons, autocannons and multilasers filling the air with streaking death, but somehow, the nimble enemy craft managed to avoid them all. Its claws retracted, and it drew a long pole from its back. The pole ignited, trident-like blades of energy emerging from each end.

It dropped abrubtly to street level, the polearm scything left and right, bisecting Praetorians where they stood. The thrusters on its back flared, and it darted straight for the _Bastion_, slicing its way through the remaining Praetorians.

Zeriel knew what was going to happen next. "Target!" he shouted, even though he knew there was no chance of acquiring the target and firing before the enemy reached them.

The last thing Zeriel Holdar saw was the blade of Altron's beam glaive vaporising the inside of his tank.

* * *

Daniel Williams swore loudly as he wrenched the controls of his Taurus around. "More of those damn cyborg-things to the left, two," he said.

"Got it, lead," replied two, Elena Banks. "Moving up."

Her Taurus came up behind Daniel's, turning on the way to fire a burst of shots into a pair of cyborgs approaching down an alley. They were surrounded, enemies in all directions.

Now he knew why cityfights weren't so common anymore. The main advantages of a mobile suit over tanks and infantry were firepower and manoeuvrability. In these cramped conditions, their fire lanes were restricted by the overcrowded buildings, and their manoeuvrability was cut down to almost nothing.

The World Nation forces had made a quick initial advance, gaining access to the town in short order and rendering the enemy artillery almost useless, but now they were stymied. The nuances of urban combat were unknown to the mobile suit pilots, who were used to battles over wide open terrain, or in the blankness of space. He knew the counter-assault was taking heavy losses, but two hundred mobile suits couldn't fail to take this small town, even if they had to systematically destroy every single building.

What they should have done, realised Daniel, was keep the entire force concentrated together. Instead, they had gone in over the entire western side of the town, spreading the force into more easily-resisted pockets. They hadn't counted on the enemy being this well dug in already, or there being so many of them with so much heavy weaponry. They had though it would be a relatively simple matter to sweep through the town and round up the enemy, and, once they had them encircled, move in for the kill. No one had thought that infantry and tanks could put up this much resistance to mobile suits.

"Over the top, two," he said, lifting his Taurus' hand to indicate the building to their left, behind which the enemy were approaching. "I'll go round groundside."

"Roger that," replied two, and her Taurus boosted up and over the four-storey building, weapon ready.

He rounded the corner, his beam rifle already aimed for where he knew the enemy would be. There were six of them, a mismatched group of mostly-mechanical monsters bristling with weapons and armour. Not one of them was smaller than eight feet tall; tiny by mobile suit standards, but giants by human ones.

His first shot took out the lead cyborg, incinerating it completely, and his second destroyed the entire left half of the one next to it. They returned fire, sending heavy shells and laser beams slamming into his Taurus. He staggered, going down to one knee as the shots tore into his right leg. 

Elena came over the top of the building, beam rifle blazing, and obliterated the rear two. She landed heavily, feet cracking the ground under her Taurus, in the middle of the remaining two cyborgs.

They stopped firing, and turned on her. Daniel raised his weapon, sighted, and took out the rearmost one, but the last cyborg got into striking range. It was tripedal, three bladed legs propelling it forwards, with one arm replaced by a double-barrelled weapon, and the other by a massive claw at least two metres long. 

The claw, crackling with energies, smashed into Elena's Taurus just below the knee. It punched through the titanium armour like wet paper, and almost tore off the leg. Elena went down, and it moved up, bladed legs stabbing into the mobile suit as it walked up to its chest.

Daniel roared in anger, kicking in the thrusters and charging straight at the cyborg. He couldn't use his rifle for fear of hitting Elena, so he would have to resort to just beating the damn thing to death.

It was faster than he was, though, and before he got halfway, its claw punched down once more, directly over the cockpit. It pierced the armour with a great, ripping _shriek_, locking out straight, buried inside Elena's Taurus. It withdrew the claw, and Daniel saw with horror that it was stained with fresh blood.

His Taurus reached the remains of Elena's, and he kicked out with one foot, connecting with the enemy and launching it into the building beside him. It smashed through the wall in a cloud of dust. Daniel turned his beam rifle on it, firing shot after shot into the newly-created hole until there was no chance that anything could still be alive in there.

Something hit him in the back so hard it almost brought him to his knees. He fought to his feet, and turned. There were three cyborgs at the corner of the street, all firing non-stop at him.

He didn't care any more. Elena had been with him from the start, since training. Even while the rest of his unit died, one by one, Elena stayed with him. Now she was gone, his unit was no more. Tears glistening in his eyes, he blasted his Taurus towards the three cyborgs. 

Rounds slammed into his Taurus, shaking him, but he kept up his speed. He dropped the beam rifle, and reached down to his waist, pulling free and activating the beam sabre there. He raised it, howling a battle cry, and swung at the cyborgs.

The blow sliced two of them in half, but the third, a hunched, tracked abomination, opened fire with a huge weapon mounted on its back. A blinding beam of light speared into Daniel's Taurus, catching him in the waist. The energy exploded with a force comparable to beam weapons, searing through armour like it wasn't there.

The plasma cannon gutted his Taurus, and it fell to the ground. Two more shots later, and Daniel Williams was no more.

* * *

Above the town, four huge shapes dropped from orbit, framed by flames from the friction of atmospheric entry. They were massive, each one over fifty metres tall, and thirty wide.

When they landed, they shook the earth.

Then their side panels fired free, propelled by explosive bolts, and their contents were revealed. _Dominus Cruor_ stepped from the southernmost one, the Warhound Titan stalking forwards towards the town, Vulcan Mega-Bolters cycling. In its command throne, Princeps Adamus Krieg was melded with the Titan, mind to mind, spirit to spirit.

Beside it, _Mors Ignis_ emerged, the barrel of its inferno cannon flaring with flames. The Warhound wasted no time searching for targets, and set of at a loping, pounding gait towards the town. The first shots from the enemy glanced harmlessly off its void shields, flaring into nothingness.

_Morior Sanctus_, the third Warhound Titan, followed more slowly, its weapons configured for long-range combat. The turbo-laser destroyer mounted in its right arm lowered slightly, and then fired. A beam of intense light flared, and an enemy exploded within the city, thin armour no match for the immensely powerful weapon.

And from the last emerged the largest; the Warlord Titan _Mors Mortis_.

* * *

With the mind-impulse link fully active, Silas was no longer Silas. Now, he was part of _Mors Mortis_, merged with its ancient consciousness. He stepped forwards, feeling the ground shake beneath his footsteps. 

As he neared the town, shots started to splash off his void shields. The powerful shielding darkened under the flaring energy beams, but held. Titan void shields were capable of holding off even shots from other Titans, and _Mors Mortis_ had six of them, layered so that if one went down, another would be ready to take its place until it could be regenerated.

Four shapes, each one just over a quarter of his height, rose from the town on powerful thrusters, banking towards him. Their weapons flashed, but did no harm.

"Deus Mechanicus," he growled, the words emerging from the massive voxcasters in his head. The Gatling Blasters in his shoulder mounts cycled up to firing speed as he acquired targeting solutions on the approaching enemies.

Theshells that flew from the Gatling Blasters were the size of tank shells, each one the length and thickness of a man's leg. The force of their impact was powerful enough to tear down structures and eat through solid rock. And the Gatling Blasters fired them at almost twenty-thousand shells per second.

The two weapons fired in unison, bolts lancing out with a solid droning roar to smash the enemies from the air. The outer pair were first to die, shredded to scraps by his fire, and the inner pair dropped low to the ground in the hope of avoiding him.

He laughed harshly and stopped firing. The huge blade mounted on the lower half of his right arm crackled, and energy danced along it as its power field activated. He stepped forwards to meet the remaining enemies.

The first veered off at the last instant, narrowly avoiding his heavy blow. The second carried on, its own blade drawn, and smashed itself to pieces on his shields. His laugh became colder. The last enemy was flitting around him, chipping away at his shields to no avail.

One foot stomped backwards, and his torso pivoted at the waist, bringing his blade scything around in a lightning-wreathed arc. The enemy craft didn't notice until too late, and his blade met it, and destroyed it. The power field ripped it apart at a molecular level, leaving only scraps for the blade itself to smash through.

His laugh cut off, and he stepped forwards again. Towards the town.

* * *

Wufei snarled in anger as he watched the monstrous machine rip apart the four Virgo II's. It was huge, in keeping with the enemy; huge ships, huge weapons; it followed that they would have huge machines too.

He brought Altron to a dead stop, in an intersection between four roads. He could see what passed for the enemy infantry approaching from all sides. The only reason he was still alive was because he had kept moving. That tank had done too much damage for him to risk it again.

The thrusters were getting close to overheating, though. They were not meant to be active for an entire battle in atmosphere. He couldn't last much longer. Sooner or later, they would give out altogether.

Growling, he brought them up to capacity once more, blasting Altron up towards one of the monsters that were busy slaughtering their way inside the town. It was one of the three smaller ones, if twenty-metre tall behemoths could be called small. Its right arm was a huge flamethrower, spewing gouts of fire down into the streets. Its left was a huge, twin-barrelled machinegun, spitting explosive-tipped bolts into the mobile suits that its flames flushed out.

It saw him before he got within four hundred metres, and shifted its aim towards him. A tempest of bolts and flames streaked out towards him, and it took all his skill to keep Altron out of their path. The thrusters were redlining as he constantly flicked them on and off, changing direction almost at random to throw off the monster's targeting.

Remembering the fate of the third Virgo II, he killed his acceleration, bringing Altron down to a crawl. It saw what he was trying to do, and he was wreathed in flames before he had a chance to move again. The fire ate away at Altron's armour, overheating the already too-hot thrusters, and he was forced to drop back from the machine.

Bolts from its machinegun followed him as he moved, tracking him through the air mere metres behind. Buildings collapsed, riddled with craters, and streets were churned into rubble.

Grimacing, he took Altron back in close. He kept up his speed, this time. There was no chance of getting through those shields without being shot first. He activated his beam glaive, and charged.

The beam weapon hit the machine's shields with a juddering spark of discharge, the invisible shield darkening beneath his blow. He dodged away as it brought its fire towards him once more, only to dart back in and strike again, wearing its shields down, blow by blow.

The machine was moving, heading further into the town. It trampled between buildings, and over the smaller ones, paying little attention to the direction of the streets. Wufei followed, boosting down narrow streets and in between buildings as quickly as he dared. One wrong move, and he would be so much scrap metal.

He rounded the remains of an apartment, and struck out for perhaps the twentieth time. The shield darkened all over, then failed. His glaive passed through, and his momentum carried Altron with it.

So, when the second shield layer came online to replace the first, he was already inside it.

Smiling cruelly, he struck upwards with the glaive, punching it into the top of the machine's chest and ripping it free in a spray of sizzling parts. He swept the glaive around to the side, then back, cutting deep into the flamethrower on the machine's shoulder mount, and boosting away before the resultant explosion could damage him.

The machine swayed under the force of the explosion, and Wufei took the opportunity to finish it. His beam glaive struck out, and emerged with a _snap-hiss_ from the top of the machine's wolf-like head. It shuddered, and he ripped the glaive free.

It fell away from him, the failing shields slipping past him, and slammed into the ground. Dead.

Wufei checked his monitors. The behemoths could be killed. Three more to go. Treize's forces had taken a battering, though. There were barely seventy mobile suits left running, out of two hundred. He grimaced. It was still doable. Working together, they could take out the huge walkers, and then sweep the town, block by block.

And then he saw something that made all that obsolete.

Up above, four more containers like those that had delivered the walkers were falling.


	15. Revelations

Part 15

They had moved.

Quinze sat in the command chair of the _Libra_, looking at the large display screen that took up the entirety of the forward wall and trying to appear completely calm, despite the nervousness that filled him. The enemy warships had converged on one spot, surrounding the half-dozen smaller transports.

He glanced down at the personnel on the bridge, catching the eye of his analysis officer, a dour man named Gregorin. "Are we clear?" he asked.

Gregorin checked his monitor, then the main screen. "Hard to say," he said. "If we stay as we are, probably. If we fire up the main engines then we'll be lighting a torch that every ship in the solar system can see, though."

Quinze nodded, and sat back. He closed his eyes. It was all falling to pieces around him. The White Fang had once had a simple goal, and a simple method. The steps they needed to take; gaining the support of the Colonies, taking the Lunar Base, controlling the _Libra_; were all clear-cut. Back then, when they had started, it had all seemed so simple.

But now these newcomers had arrived, and changed everything. The _Libra_ and its Mobile Dolls, supposedly the most powerful concentrated threat there was, were reduced to scurrying and hiding, afraid to even turn the engines on for fear of being noticed. It was humiliating.

He was torn over what to do. White Fang owed no loyalty to Earth; their purpose was to end the threat of those planet-bound powers forever; but could they – he – just hide while these newcomers devastated everything? They had already killed the Colonies. Every single one, destroyed ruthlessly without a moment's pause. Millions, _billions_, of lives ended.

"Sir, incoming contact!"

His eyes snapped open, instantly alert. "Where from? How did they find us?" he barked.

Gregorin shoved through the crew and took over the monitor. He stared at it for several seconds before turning to Quinze. "Approaching around the dark side of the moon, but slowly."

"The dark side?" said Quinze. "But that's-"

"Not from the enemy," cut in Gregorin. "Without firing up the power, we're down to minimal sensors, so we don't know anything else. If it _is_ the enemy, we'll have to wait until they're well within firing range before we can even get an accurate fix on their location. That doesn't leave us much chance, sir."

"I know," said Quinze. "But if it's approaching from the other side, then it might not be them. Survivors from the Colonies, maybe? Is the recall still out on our Mobile Dolls?"

"No," said Gregorin. "If any survived, they won't lead the enemy to us. Could be the Colonies, though. Could also be a trap."

Quinze grimaced. "That's a risk we'll have to take. I'm not going to just sit here and let this _Imperium_ destroy everything we've ever known. If they _are_ Colonists, then we can't just let them die out there. If they aren't, then I refuse to go out without a fight. This is still a fully armed battleship."

"With all due respect, sir, so are theirs," said Gregorin, pointing with one arm at the blinking red dots on the main screen representing the enemy ships.

Quinze sagged back again. He had never envisioned these kinds of battles, with these kinds of stakes. "I know," he said. "How much power do we have available without firing the engines?"

"For weapons?" replied Gregorin. He checked the monitor. "Not much. We're pretty much using everything for life support and gravity. We've only got lights on half the ship. At a push, I suppose we could get one or two beam cannon emplacements online, but targeting would be manual."

Quinze gripped the cold steel arms of his chair. If it was hostile, then they couldn't be defenceless when it arrived. There had to be a way to get enough power to the weapons systems to be a threat to whatever it was. Two beam cannons, fired and targeted manually, would be a powerful but horribly inaccurate weapon.

"What about without lights?" he said.

"Without the lights? If we turn them all off and reroute all the power to the weapons, we might just be able to bring the automatic targeting online for those two beam cannons. That, or get another cannon working."

"Get the targeting."

"Sir." Gregorin gestured to half a dozen others, and they clustered around the monitors, shutting off sections and redirecting power flows.

When the bridge lights went out, last of all, Quinze just sat there, staring in the dark at whatever was moving towards them.

* * *

_Mors Mortis_ strode through the outskirts of the town like an angry god. It's feet crushed buildings and smashed walls, and every firing of its weapons brought death in its wake.

The enemy were buzzing around it like flies, firing their weapons at it to no effect as they were swatted to the ground one by one. The Titan's voxcasters howled with bloodthirsty laughter as it killed.

Down below, on the floor. Something was happening. The point defence weapons mounted on its legs, multilasers and heavy bolters crewed by Skitarii, were firing at something. Visual sensors moved, tilting down to glare at the ground below. Eight of the enemy craft were low down on the ground, inside the Titan's void shields. Their weapons, while near-useless against shielding, were deadly against unshielded targets.

_Mors Mortis_ stumbled as a trio of shots lanced into its right knee. Metal and bodies flew from the wound, half vaporised by the beam shots. Its laughter turned to a shriek of rage, and its left arm extended downwards, the melta cannon mounted there hissing as it prepared to fire.

As if they knew what was coming, the enemies scattered. _Mors Mortis_ fired. The microwave blast was normally used for melting through fortress walls, and seared a hole a dozen metres deep into the ground in front of the Titan, instantly incinerating the few enemy craft that had been caught in its blast.

The remaining craft were buffeted away from the shot, and _Mors Mortis_' blade claimed another two, slashing out in a wide, powerful arc. One foot stomped backwards, and the sword slashed forwards again, smashing another craft to pieces. The point defence weapons claimed the last, stitching it with craters.

The Gatling Blasters cycled up once more, as a fresh batch of enemies rose up from the city ahead. An itch clawed to life at the back of its mind, a distraction that grew with every second. The Titan grunted with annoyance, and fired. The shells scythed through the enemy, smashing them back down to the ground, but the itch was still growing. It was almost pain, now. _Mors Mortis_ roared in frustration, raising its melta cannon towards the enemy-

And then fell silent.

* * *

Wufei threw Altron into a wide roll as the monster ahead opened up with the weapons on its shoulders. They were monstrous versions of machineguns, and their fire took five of the Tauruses he had gathered from the sky. He gritted his teeth in anger.

Altron's thrusters were straining, now. They were overexerted. He had to leave. It was that, or crash and die. No. He couldn't flee from a battle, even one as hopeless as this. He had not fled from the _Libra_ when he had fought to stop White Fang taking control of it, though it had nearly cost him his life, and he would not flee now.

"Everyone, spread out," he ordered. "Keep moving erratically. Don't let it get a bead on you. We're going in fast, and we're going in close."

Ahead, the giant walker raised it's left arm, a smoking cannon with a perforated barrel. It roared, and he tensed, ready to react.

The shot never came. The great machine just stood there, immobile, frozen halfway through its action. The weapons mounted on its carapace still blazed, cutting down anything that came too close, by the walker itself was silent.

Now was his chance. "Go!" he shouted. "We have to reach it before it comes back online!"

* * *

Silas screamed in agony as the mind-link was ripped from him. Monofilament wires whipped from his eyes, subdermal linkages were torn loose, and every nerve in his body fired at once. The shock of being suddenly disconnected from the Titan's consciousness was like a blade of ice piercing his heart.

Through the haze of red that clouded his eyes, he saw a robed figure flailing at him. Its – her, he realised, his thoughts returning slowly, painfully – hands slapped and scratched, wails and cries coming from her mouth. He staggered to his feet, gritting his teeth as he grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled hard.

His eyes were beginning to focus now, and he could begin to make out features. Her hood had been thrown back, and her face was filled with rage. Her words were incomprehensible to his tortured senses, sound seeming as if heard through water. He battered away her slaps and scratches clumsily, stumbling backwards away from the throne.

He growled in sudden anger, and surged forwards, finding his balance at last. He grabbed her arms, and slammed her back against the wall. The air left her body in a gasp, and she sagged, all thought of attack lost for a moment. He punched her in the stomach, as hard as he could manage, and she cried out in pain this time.

He leaned in close to her, keeping her pinned. "What are you doing?" he managed to say, thickly.

He could just make out tears in her eyes. "You killed them," she said. At least, that was what it sounded like. "You killed them without a second thought, and you- you laughed!"

He roared in anger, and threw her across the chamber. She crashed into the throne and crumpled to the floor in a heap. Breathing in deep, painful gulps, he looked around the chamber. As they had been trained, his Moderatii were bringing themselves out of their stations, detaching themselves from their own mind-links.

Through the haze of pain that clouded his mind, he realised that if they saw the girl, there would be nothing he could do. He would be as good as dead. Giving an angry groan, he dragged himself to the Throne and depressed a series of runes, giving the signal that all hostilities had ended. The Moderatii stopped, and then set about relinking. They had been roused from their fire control duties on automated protocol. If an enemy gained access to the command chamber, they would not find the crew easy prey.

He staggered to the girl, adrenaline leeching from him and being replaced with aching exhaustion. He grabbed her robe and lifted her, grunting at the strain. He shook her, then when she didn't come round, he hit her again, open handed on her cheek. She groaned and her eyes fluttered open.

"Why?" he said angrily. "You could have _killed_ me – killed us all! There are enemies out there this very minute that are trying to kill us!"

She coughed, obviously in pain. He shook her again, and she managed to get an answer out. "You- you were going crazy," she coughed. "Laughing all the time like a madman. And killing. Killing all those people. What did they do? Why did they have to die like that?"

Damn this woman and her weakness! Were they all to die for her damn morals? "They were enemies," he grated, trying to stop himself from beating her to death there and then. "This is war, and they are the enemy. The enemy deserves only one thing, and that is death."

"But why?" she said, her voice strengthening. "How can you kill like that?"

"I kill because I _can_!" he said angrily. "This is a _Titan_, a God-Machine designed to do one thing; to kill as much as possible, as fast as possible. The Archmagos demands the death of everything here, and I am one of his weapons."

"So you would obey any command given, regardless of what it was?" she said, the fire back in her eyes.

"If needed, yes!" he said. "No man dies in vain that dies in the service of the Emperor."

"But if those commands went against your God-Emperor?"

He hesitated. The chain of command was a thing instilled in his almost from birth. To break it was unthinkable, but to go against the God-Emperor was heresy. Worse, to willingly turn was treachery. "No," he said at last. "Not that. I will not be another Horus, nor will I be servant to one."

"Then how can you accept one command blindly but not another? How can you question only one thing? Does your intelligence count for nothing?"

"I fight where I am commanded, how I am commanded. This Titan is a weapon, and I am its Princeps. I go where I am taken in service to the Emperor and the Machine God."

"But how can you not see that blind service is inviting treachery? When subordinates _must_ obey, what is to stop their superior from using them to his own end?"

That gave him pause. His anger drained away, to be replaced by cold rationality. She had a point. As much as he hated it, she had a point. "'The seeds of heresy reside in rational thought'," he quoted. "But without rational thought, humanity would die."

"Then 'heresy' is necessary for humanity's survival," she said, softly. "For without thought, we are worse than animals."

"But if you speak truth, then-"

"Why are you here?" she asked. "Why are you killing?"

"Because I am commanded to," he answered.

"But if those commands are wrong?"

"Then… I do not know. Though you use unconsecrated technology and practice heresy, you are undeniably human. There is no taint of the ruinous powers within your society."

"Then why are we fighting?"

"I- I do not know."

What was he saying? The words that were falling from his lips were heresy, and yet they were _right_. His world was shaking apart around him, and yet he knew he was somehow on the right path. But if he was right, did that mean that the Archmagos Veneratus was wrong? That his fellow Princeps were wrong?

The chamber shuddered violently, and he almost fell. He let go of the girl, and she stumbled to her feet. "The enemy!" he said. "They are still attacking!"

She grabbed his arm. "No!" he said. "Is everything I have said for nothing? How can you perpetuate this meaningless war?"

"Because if I do not, we will both die," he snapped, and sat back in his Throne. The neural linkages snaked across his skin, cold as ice, and he turned his head to look at her.

"Back in the corner. I will do what is right."

For now, he had to keep _Mors Mortis_ alive.

* * *

"It's a Mobile Suit!"

Quinze started, his reverie broken by the call. Their vigil had lasted for over an hour, as they waited, illuminated only by the blinking lights of the screen, watching the contact move inexorably closer.

"We're being hailed," said Gregorin.

"Put it up on screen," said Quinze. "I want to see who it is."

Gregorin nodded, and tapped at his console. An image snapped to life on the main screen, showing the last person he had expected to see again.

"Quinze," said Milliardo Peacecraft. "Good to see you're still alive."


End file.
